X&Y
by Vivalatuavita
Summary: Clarke never thought that her senior year of high school would be spent in a frat house, especially the frat house of her ex-best friend's, douchey, irresponsible older brother, Bellamy.
1. Summary

Clarke Griffin never thought that her senior year of high school would be spent in a frat house, especially the frat house of her ex-best friend's, douchey, irresponsible older brother, Bellamy. She'd fantasized about going to college since middle school, but not like this, not this early.

She'd never planned on doing homework in a lounge that reeked of testosterone and beer while her new roommate partied until the stars went to sleep. Clarke had never intended to be the source of drama in two very different schools either. Her senior year was supposed to consist of hanging out with friends, doing tedious assignments, having a snowball fight during Winter Break, tanning during Spring Break, and rounding off her high school career with a creatively themed Prom.

But none of that mattered; her plans didn't mean anything anymore. The phrase 'supposed to' was now an afterthought. Because things had gotten a little screwed up on the way to graduation.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Kicking through the scattered clothes on the beige, carpeted floor, she stepped over an overturned backpack, forgotten, emptied beer cans, and flopped down on her bed. Even though the clock read three in the afternoon, the shades were half-drawn, casting a sleepy dimness about the reasonably sized room. Hands in her lap, she stared at the partially open laptop, the books that had probably never been opened, and the Grounders posters on the wall. Running fingers through her curly blond hair, she pondered the best way to break the news.

Groundbreaking news, heartbreaking news, gut-wrenching news.

Words she didn't want to use had to come.

The other guys, the brothers, had long since gotten used to her presence. Having been forcibly removed from her own home, an hour away from the college, they'd accepted her living in their residence pretty well. She rarely saw any of them anyway.

Most of them partied at night; her roommate was no exception.

 _Roommate_ was an inaccurate title. She lived in his room; this was _his_ room. When she'd first moved in, he'd given her his bed. He volunteered to sleep on the floor. The memory seemed like it had come ages ago; it was really just a month. The rightful occupant of the room said that he'd take any of his late-night 'friends' to the spare room downstairs. That way, there'd be no awkwardness. She didn't understand his reasoning because apparently he was seeing some girl named Gina, a girl who despised her with every fiber of her being.

It was understandable. If she had a boyfriend, she wouldn't be too fond of some other, younger girl popping up out of nowhere and living in his room. She'd accidentally eavesdropped on one of Gina's phone calls with her friends. Gina had politely referred to her as 'some whore', a phrase that made her shrink and creep back to the bedroom in order to escape the unwarranted judgment. Gina hadn't even bothered to find out why she was living in the house. She hadn't tried to get to know her at all. Once she learned about their situation, the hate had its foundation. And there was no getting rid of it. Every time they were in a room together, something she tried to avoid, Gina glared venomously at her, no doubt thinking of insults and barbs.

"Bellamy," she said his name softly, even though he wasn't in the room. There was no telling where he was actually, not like he went to class. His mom was unknowingly paying for him to party and lay girls. Clarke was accustomed to his absences at night.

She never knew his exact whereabouts, but she was one hundred percent certain that, wherever he was, there was beer. Bellamy….she'd known him since elementary school. He was Octavia's older brother by two years. She and Octavia were both seventeen years old, almost adults, and set to graduate in June. It was their senior year, a year to be celebrated, their last stop in public education before being thrust into the world of jobs and college.

At the age of nineteen, Bellamy was a sophomore in college. How was a mystery. The school started in late August; she'd come in early October, and hadn't seen him go to class once. His disappearances during the daytime were more disconcerting than the ones at night. At least at night she could assume that he was at a party. When the sun was up, if he wasn't in class….where the hell was he?

She never really asked questions; his actions weren't really her business or her responsibility. He was an adult. Not a very good one, but an adult nonetheless. He was the epitome of the dark side of Greek life. Bellamy was the over-stereotyped frat boy who partied hard, slept late, and studied never. But he was nice. He was the only one to offer her a place to stay when her parents banished her from their residence.

Moving her hands to the undersides of her thighs, she wondered how everyone would look at her, what they would say about her, both here and at school. Her parent's reaction extended beyond all realms of negativity. Her mother considered her ruined and wanted nothing to do with her, even though she explained wholeheartedly that it wasn't her fault.

It wasn't her fault.

Tilting her head down, she stared bitterly towards the filthy floor. It was one downside of living with a guy. He didn't understand the basic necessity of cleanliness. For the small space she had, her things were neat, tidy, organized. His clothes were everywhere, and some probably hadn't seen the interior of a washing machine in weeks.

His messiness, constant absence and drunken presence made their living arrangements less than favorable. It wasn't like living with a friend. She'd pushed her friends away with solid arms after the incident. No one would understand; her parents made that clear. No, Bellamy wasn't a friend. He was the sibling of a former friend, and he'd always been nice to her.

They weren't into the same things, which explained why they didn't hang out or talk much. Where she enjoyed things like reading and perusing the internet, he liked loud music and downing shots. They weren't that compatible, but it had worked for the past few months. She couldn't despise someone who let her live in their room.

Plus, he had his moments. When he found her doing homework, he was decent enough to go fool around somewhere else. After a night of partying, he never failed to drunkenly strip out of his clothes and quietly collapse onto the floor. The day she'd moved in, he cleared out half of his college-sized closet for her.

How their situation would continue once she told him would be anyone's guess.

It would just be a grander dose of independence. Leaving home meant that she now lived an hour away from her high school, an hour away from everything she'd ever known. She learned the bus schedule on her own; that was her transportation to and from school. Her parents had surprised her with a car for her sixteenth birthday, but that was as good as gone. Losing access to her house meant lost access to her car.

At Ark Chi Epsilon, she cooked for herself, and sometimes for some of the brothers, she did her own laundry, she took care of herself. She was responsible for herself. At seventeen, she was more independent than half the kids she sat in class with.

Bellamy showed up at nine o'clock wearing a white baseball cap turned backwards, a pair of red shorts, and a long-sleeved, pale blue shirt. The sky had darkened ages ago, and she'd just been lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the true direction of her future.

She told him.

And he just looked at her.


	3. Chapter 2

Giving her a deer-in-the-headlight look, he froze momentarily, and then gradually came back to life. Standing up from stooping down to pick up an armful of clothes, he backtracked, and shut the door. Then he looked at her some more, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

"What do you mean you're pregnant?" he inquired, pulling his desk chair out. The clothes he'd gone to pick up remained on the floor, a dirty collection of his nightly exploits.

"Exactly what I said," she said lamely, tucking light strands of hair behind her ear. His brown eyes met her green ones, and he stared, dumbstruck and speechless. She could tell from his lacking response that his brain was at top-speed, trying to process the information.

"You don't look pregnant," he commented, lowering his eyes to her stomach, and then bringing them back up to her face.

"Well, I am," she emphasized, grinding her teeth.

Bellamy paused and glanced around his room. Rubbing the rising stubble on and underneath his chin, he peered over towards the door. "Did you know you were pregnant before you got here?"

"No," she shook her head.

"Then how do you know you're pregnant now?" he questioned.

"I took the test," she answered with exasperation. Bellamy was being borderline dumb, and it was getting more than annoying. Eyes still wider than normal, he removed his hat and spun it around on his fist, distracting himself from the flood of information. Alternating between staring at the shaded window and the floor, he finally looked back at her, head angled slightly.

"Well….are you gonna….keep it?"

"Yeah," she answered quietly, twirling some of her split strands of hair. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled quietly and steeled herself to prevent any tears. Even though it wouldn't do anything, she felt like crying. Just breaking down and sobbing on the floor.

"You're seventeen, Clarke," he shot back.

"I know that," she snapped, rubbing the back of her neck. Stating her age wasn't going to change her decision. She'd thought about it, a lot. Holding a positive pregnancy test in her hand had made her thoughts fly faster than they ever had before. All of them led back to the central one: what was she going to do? There was no point in considering any other option besides keeping it; she couldn't afford the alternative.

The silence became stifling. Biting her lip, she wished she had friends. Or even her mom. She wanted to tell someone who understood completely, someone who wouldn't sit and ask stupid questions.

Bellamy was taking the news pretty well, as far as pregnancy admissions went, but he still looked lost and confused. He could've spouted some words of encouragement, maybe asked better questions. Instead, he just sat there, spinning that stupid, blue hat of his around on his fist.

Clarke wanted to hear that being pregnant at seventeen wasn't the end of the world; she could still go to college and get her dream job. Her life wasn't completely shot now that she fell into the category of teen mom. She wanted someone to tell her that there was still hope.

A nice pat on the back would've been acceptable as well. Except, she remembered sullenly, she didn't like being touched. Bellamy hadn't known that the first day she moved in. His attempt to hug her in a joking manner had resulted in him being shoved back more forcefully than he would ever credit a girl with doing. That was one thing he had learned quickly though. He'd never tried to touch her again, and he never asked why. Clarke figured that he just considered it one of her weird qualities. She probably wouldn't have told him if he'd asked anyways.

"I gotta go," standing up suddenly, he put his back on, and pushed in the chair. Stepping over the clothes that were so close to being washed, or at least she assumed that was where they'd been headed, he walked towards the closed door.

"I just wanted to tell you," she mumbled.

"Yeah," he said shortly, twisting the knob. "I'll see you later."

Disappearing from the room, he left her to sit and think, two things she didn't really want. Thinking had consumed the majority of her time since her brain registered that her childhood was over. It was done, and it was never coming back. Clarke didn't want to think. She wasn't even in the mood to do homework. Pushing off from the bed, she tugged the laundry basket from beneath it, and began gathering his clothes from around the room.

Movement kept her from reliving the moment, the instant she saw that plus sign in that stupid little circle. The subsequent crying in the frat bathroom, the shower, and the bed when Bellamy wasn't in the room. Seizing the mound he'd been about to pick up, she dumped it on top of the pile, swept hair out of her face, and then grabbed the detergent.

* * *

After getting home from school the next day, Clarke walked into their room and was surprised to see Bellamy rocking back and forth in his desk chair, once again looking as if he'd done nothing the entire day. Dropping her backpack next to the bed, she admired the clean, carpeted floor. It wasn't often that Bellamy's clutter wasn't marring the image. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he answered simply, standing up. "Come with me for a second."

"Where?" she asked suspiciously.

"My truck," he replied, heading towards the door. When he realized she wasn't following, he turned around. "What's the matter?"

"Why can't we talk in here?" she gestured to the open space and cleanliness. His truck was too small. Inside, they'd be breathing each others air, hearing each others thoughts. She couldn't be that close to him.

"What? Are you afraid?" he smirked, staring across the gap.

"No," she said harshly, deeply wishing that he'd just change his mind and go back to sitting in the desk chair. "I just….what's wrong with here?"

"I don't want other people to hear," leaning backwards in the doorway, he checked up and down the hallway. That was unnecessary because, unlike him, most of the guys were in class or doing things around campus. They'd be back in the evening. After about three, basically everyone was back in the house, talking, laughing, drinking, working. Bellamy engaged in all of those activities, too, minus the _working_ part.

Reluctantly, Clarke stepped away from her backpack and followed him downstairs, through the foyer, and out into the fall air. Leaves swirled in miniature tornadoes before settling on the sidewalks and in between the trees surrounding Greek Row. The entire campus was practically a nature reserve. There were trees, leaves, and squirrels everywhere. The scenery, along with the old buildings, made her premature college experience almost storybook-like.

Bellamy shivered a bit before unlocked the doors and hopping into the passenger seat. Clarke's hand trembled over the lock of the passenger side. Swallowing her feelings, she pulled open the door and shut herself inside.

Thrusting the keys into the ignition, Bellamy turned his black truck on and put the heat on its lowest setting. Rubbing his hands together, he leaned more comfortably in his seat.

"I still don't get it," he said after some time had passed. "You're smart and….nice. You're one of those girls that never get in trouble. How'd _you_ get knocked up?"

Relishing the steady stream of warmth, Clarke kept her words to herself, choosing not to answer what she considered another one of his stupid questions. How'd she get pregnant? Like everyone else got pregnant. The concept wasn't that difficult, and Bellamy was old enough to know how babies were made and where they came from.

"Can I ask who he is?" Bellamy asked after another blanket of silence.

The answer caught in her throat. Through the windshield, she watched two squirrels shoot from beneath sculpted shrubbery and onto the sidewalk. Squirrels were so carefree. They didn't have problems. All they had to worry about was storing nuts and….whatever else they did. Nine times out of ten, they were chasing each other.

"Clarke?"

"Huh?" snapping out of her squirrel fantasy, she glanced over at him. Bellamy was staring at her intently, one eye slightly narrowed.

"Who's the guy?"

"He….he's just some guy I was seeing," ducking her head and turning away, she lowered her voice and swallowed again. "He's in the army now." Her hands started sweating, so she wiped them on her jeans.

"Does he know?"

"Y-yeah," she answered. "I told him and….he said he didn't want anything to do with me."

"What an asshole," Bellamy responded, shaking his head. Drumming his fingers around the circle of his steering wheel, he scoffed. "You don't….I'm not the best guy ever, but….you don't leave your pregnant girlfriend."

"He wasn't my boyfriend," she clarified hastily. It was the truth. He hadn't been her boyfriend. It was fine that he was out of her life anyway; she didn't want anything to do with him.

"It doesn't matter," Bellamy shrugged. "You step up and take responsibility. Don't they preach that shit in the army anyway?"

Clarke shrugged.

"Do you need those vitamins?"

"What vitamins?"

"Pregnant people vitamins," he answered, stroking his chin. The warmth in his truck was so comforting that she didn't want to leave. It wasn't that warm inside the frat house. The school hadn't exactly gotten around to turning the heat on. Clarke was forced to sleep beneath a comforter in a hoodie and sweatpants if she didn't want to freeze at night. "I'll buy them for you."

"No," she said quickly.

"I think you do," he pushed. "I'll get some next time I'm out."

"I don't need anything." Her independence elbowed its way to the forefront. His help wasn't required. In fact, she'd made a doctor's appointment right before going to school that morning. Clarke was capable of handling this situation herself.

"Clarke, I got it," Bellamy said strongly. "Is that guy back home? He better not be." Shifting, he rested his head against the steering wheel and sighed. "Messing around with a girl and then not doing the right thing….that guy's a dick."

"Did you go out drinking last night?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I was….what you told me was too much. If it seems like I was running out on you, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," dropping her eyes to her lap, she teased her finger over the metal door panel, tracing her nails around the buttons responsible for locking and unlocking the door. Thankfully, the doors were already unlocked.

"This'll be a funny story," he smiled at her. "Pregnant teenager in the frat."

"Please don't tell anyone," she said quickly, whipping her head to the left to stare directly at him. That wasn't funny at all.

"They're going to find out eventually," he reasoned.

"Please don't tell anyone," she pleaded.

"Okay," he said uncertainly.

She knew they would eventually find out. It was only a matter of time before her stomach eliminated all chances to lie and deny. If they knew, they would look at her strangely, differently; they would judge her.

Clarke wanted to be free of the inevitable looks in their eyes once they put two and two together. They would stare at her like they knew, when really, they wouldn't. She just wanted to be the girl who lived in Bellamy's room for a little while longer.

She wanted to be that girl until her ankles started swelling and mouths started passing stories and assumptions behind her aching back. Until the day came where people could just look at her and know, Clarke wanted to grasp onto her semi-normal status for as long as possible.

"I have homework to do," she said quickly, opening the door. The warm air of the truck flew outside, mixing with the cool breezes.

"You'll be okay," he said before she slammed the door shut and trekked back up the sidewalk towards the front door, hands tucked beneath her armpits.

Instead of doing homework, she curled up on the bed and fought to go to sleep. Nothing happened, so she just laid there with her eyes closed. Her mind was a vast blankness, a void, where nothing happened. By the time she finally got up, it was dark out and the clock said it was after nine. Grabbing her backpack, she decided to work in the lounge. Thumping down the stairs, she hugged her hoodie tighter around her.

"Hey, Clarke," said one of the guys – Jasper, she thinks - walking out of the lounge.

"Hi," she said quickly, darting to the other side of the room. Dumping her backpack on the table, she unzipped it and removed her binders and notebooks. Turning the pages, she grabbed a pencil and her textbook and attempted to focus on the lines of small, black print.

At twelve in the morning, she detected the distinct drunk-voice of Bellamy. Distracted, she lifted her head and struggled to hear if he was actually saying anything. He wasn't. He stumbled past with a girl in tow. He was with Gina, which meant she didn't want him to even look in her direction.

It was perfect, because he didn't.

* * *

And so it continued until the third month. Bellamy did what he did best. There was nothing different about their relationship, except she was pregnant. He kept her secret, as promised. And for that, she silently thanked him. Hiding it got a little difficult, especially in some of her tighter t-shirts.

She caught several of Bellamy's friends scrutinizing her when they thought she wasn't paying them any attention. It wasn't blatantly obvious, but if she stood at the right angle and in the right light, they could guess. No one asked her directly though. But she was sure that they talked. It was like she'd gone to bed with a flat stomach one night and awoken with a tiny mound in its place. Thankfully, because it was November, she could lie around in sweatshirts and hoodies without attracting too much attention.

With her sketchbook, she sat in the lounge, bare feet propped up on one of the faded ottomans. The frats had finally been granted heat a few weeks back, making her stay more desirable. She no longer had to sleep in winter gear in order to be comfortable. How Bellamy was comfortable on the floor she didn't know. But he didn't complain. The nights when he was alone, he bundled up and snored quietly amongst his accumulated junk.

"Oh, look."

Clarke didn't have to look up to know who was now in the room. The malice in the voice wasn't understated, as it usually was when other people were around. She looked up, realizing that Gina had brought two of her friends. For some strange reason, they were all wearing the same knit sweater in different colors: magenta, gray, and periwinkle. Gina took it upon herself to wear the boldest color, skinny jeans, and boots. They were a little shy of looking like triplets. Gina's brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, letting part of her curly bangs flop lightly against her face. One of her friends had blonde hair in a pixie cut and green eyes that looked exactly like emeralds. She had the largest pair of boobs of the three, which made her gray sweater the tightest. Her nose was a little large for her face, but she didn't seem to mind. The nose piercing made it look like she wanted people to stare at it.

The third one, the one manning Gina's left, was a wavy-haired brunette who looked as if she'd just stepped off a Calvin Klein billboard. Even without huge boobs and a nose piercing, she was still stunning. With her prettiness came a bitchy attitude. Clarke could tell just by running her eyes and up down the thin length of her. Donning the periwinkle sweater, flare jeans, and plain sneakers, she stared back at Clarke with a small smirk toying with her pink, plumped up lips.

"Clarke, right?" Gina asked while sitting down uninvited on the couch. The other two grabbed chairs and pulled them up, aggressively staring her down for no reason. "You're not even old enough to be here. Why don't you go home?"

Ignoring them, Clarke flipped to a clean page, not ready for anyone to see her drawings. She figured that if she ignored Gina long enough, she'd get bored and move on to something else. The attention spans of bullies were fairly short. Reacting only fueled their fire. She was minding her own business anyways. She'd kept to herself since moving in. If Gina had actually given her a chance, or acted her age, she might've discovered that Clarke wasn't a whore.

Clarke wasn't doing anything with Bellamy because Bellamy wasn't her type. Quite honestly, in her opinion, Bellamy was a failure. He was the type who drank his way through college until he failed so badly there was no recovery; the only option was dropping out. In spite of that, she knew he loved his sister and would do anything for her.

"Your parents must not love you," Gina said rudely, resting her arm on the back of the couch. "Parents that actually care about their daughter wouldn't let her live in a frat house."

"I wouldn't want my daughter if she was a whore, either," the blonde one commented.

"True," Gina mused, pretending to think over the matter. Clarke ground her teeth but remained focused on the dimmed screen. "You are a little slut." Leaning over, she shoved Clarke's sketchbook out of her hands and onto the nearby seat cushion. Remaining calm, Clarke scratched behind her ear and blinked slowly. She made a point of not making direct eye contact with any of them. "You're living with _my_ boyfriend, bitch."

"He doesn't even like you," the brunette commented, agreeing with her friends. Clarke locked eyes with her, but said nothing. She couldn't tell if Gina's friends were speaking from their hearts, or acting as Gina's personal dummies. Gina was probably the ventriloquist in the situation. She seemed like that kind of girl, the type that thrived off drama.

From hanging around, Clarke knew that Gina was in Pi Delta Delta. Clarke thought sorority girls were supposed to lead interesting lives. That's what it had always looked like on TV. Gina seemed to have nothing better to do than generate conflict with a high schooler. Here she was, going out of her way to insult Clarke and assert that Bellamy was her boyfriend, when _clearly_ , Clarke didn't care either way.

"And is it true you're pregnant?" Gina asked.

Turning sharply from the friend to Gina, she glared, giving Gina the answer she needed. If she hadn't hated her before, she definitely did now. Gina's nostrils flared and her green eyes darkened and narrowed. "Do you not know how condoms work? You're seventeen years old and you're pregnant. Congratulations."

"Is it Bellamy's?" the blond one inquired.

"Yeah," Gina backed her friend up and stared Clarke down. Her palms started sweating and her blood ran cold. "Is that why you live in his room?"

"No," Clarke spoke for the first time during the confrontation. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I have a hard time trusting sluts," Gina answered brusquely.

"You trust your friends," Clarke replied, a clear mistake on her part.

"What'd you say?" Gina shoved her violently. Clarke kept her mouth shut and hardened herself against the next blow. "You think you're the shit just 'cause you're on a college campus now?"

"You're nothing, girl."

"Yeah," Gina agreed. "You. Are. Nothing. And your life's basically done because you're knocked up by some guy who was dumb enough to have sex with you."

She shoved her again, and this time her entire body went numb. Instead of reacting, Clarke just sat there and took it. There was no point in fighting back. Eventually they would give up; they would leave her alone. All she had to do was sit still. No one would hear her anyway.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy burst in and marched over. Gina dropped her hands and her bitchiness, and immediately thrust up her mask of innocence.

"What?"

"She doesn't like when people touch her!" Bellamy all but shouted, breaking the ranks of the semi-circle they'd formed. "Gina, what the fuck. What are you doing?"

"We were just talking," she lied.

"She's seventeen!" Bellamy fired back. "I already told you we're not doing anything."

Retrieving her sketchbook, Clarke brought it up to her chest, and strode quickly from the room, not bothering to stay for whatever else Bellamy had to say to his 'girlfriend'. Retreating into their room, she sank onto the bed, grabbed her charcoal, and resumed her activities. Hours later, the doorknob turned, revealing Bellamy's face. Hands in his pockets, he sat down on the floor, resting his back against some of his desk drawers.

"Thanksgiving Break is coming up," he said. Clarke contemplated why he made no mention of what had happened downstairs. "And the school makes everyone leave, so…."

"You're going home?" she asked ridiculously. Of course he was going home. He lived an hour away. There was no reason for him not to go home. But if he went back to their hometown, where was she supposed to stay?

She didn't have money for a hotel, and her parents had made it clear that they never wanted to see her again. Could she stay at his house? No. No, no, no. She didn't want to go there. That was the last place on Earth she wanted to be. If the choice between Bellamy's house and hell presented itself, she would choose hell. She couldn't make him spend the break in a hotel though. He'd already done enough for her. So it was either the streets or….his house.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Which means….I mean, you don't have to. But I don't know where else you would stay."

"Isn't your mom going to ask questions?" Clarke inquired. Bellamy's mom had always been nice to her, but she hadn't seen her in three months. There was no telling how the reunion would be, or what she would say.

Clarke silently thanked whatever celestial entity that she wasn't heavily pregnant. The weather allowed her to shield her stomach from prying eyes, which meant Bellamy's mom and….just thinking her name made air catch in her throat.

Octavia.

Octavia wouldn't ask questions because she wouldn't know. She hadn't spoken to O in three months either, a feat she would've once considered impossible. They'd been best friends since fourth grade. Now she avoided her in the halls, the cafeteria, the parking lots, everywhere. If they happened to make eye contact, she quickly looked away, and dashed to another part of the school.

Away, far, far away.

"I'll just tell her that you're living with me," he shrugged casually, like it was an easy answer. Everything was easy for him. He didn't have any problems because he didn't do anything.

"You don't have to tell her why your parents kicked you out. I'd actually be upset if you did, since….you haven't told me." Bellamy didn't need to know why she was kicked out. He'd graciously accepted her refusal to talk and let her move in with him anyway, completely violating school rules in the process. "And it's only a week."

 _I still don't want to be there_ , she thought to herself. Part of the college and high school break would actually coincide, which meant that instead of going to school for a few days, she'd sit around his house.

Octavia would be there, too.

And possibly… him.

An awkward, uncomfortable situation for them all. She would just have to find things to do, things outside the house. Things like what, though? Bellamy might actually be there. He definitely couldn't live his raucous, bachelor lifestyle under Aurora's roof. Thanksgiving Break was a guaranteed week of his sobriety. That should be interesting, she pondered. The longest Bellamy Blake had gone without beer was a day. He would be there, so she wouldn't be completely alone.

"Unless…" he paused.

"I can't," she answered, reading his mind. Her parents didn't want her. She could already envisage how their meeting would go. It would only result in insults and a door slamming, if they even opened it at all. When she first told them, they attacked her so viciously with their words and their eyes, she wondered if they were actually her parents, the people who'd promised to love her no matter what. And that was before she got pregnant.

"It's only a week," he said reassuringly, smiling a bit at the end. "And Mom likes you. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah."

"And you can see Octavia!" he said excitedly. "I'm sure you miss that kid."

"Mm," Clarke answered ambiguously.

"Cool," Bellamy hopped up brightly.

* * *

As Bellamy's mom smothered him with her arms in their doorway, Clarke hung back, balancing her backpack, while tugging at the bottom of her blue hoodie. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she pressed against her stomach, as if that would make the fetus behind it go away. Attempting to hide behind one of the side mirrors, she surveyed the neighborhood, the area that had basically been her second home.

Everything still looked the same. All the cookie-cutter, suburban homes were still there. If she went down the road, the stop sign would still be there. If she made a left or a right, she'd be on the main road. If she travelled fifteen minutes more, she'd be home.

"Clarke?" Aurora finally noticed her pressed against the side of the car.

"Hi," forcing a smile, she walked forward. As his mom went to hug her, she sucked in her stomach as much as possible, all while keeping that smile.

"What are you doing here?" Still smiling, Aurora pulled back and studied her curiously. "Not that we mind having you. Octavia's not here right now."

"Oh, that's okay," Clarke said quickly.

"She lives with me, Mom," Bellamy reappeared, bags slung across both shoulders like some forest warrior.

"What?"

"Yeah," he said it like it was nothing. His tone was probably what made her stop. "She had something going on at home, so….she lives with me."

"Aren't you still in high school?" Bellamy's mom inquired, eyes shining with interest. Clarke had known an interrogation was coming. She'd known it since giving into the idea that she would have to stay at Bellamy's house for the break.

If his mom thought she was going to learn anything, get any answers, she had another thing coming. Bellamy didn't know, so his mom wouldn't either. It also didn't help that she had a gleam in her eye that said she would tell a whole bunch of other people if she found out either.

Why she lived with Bellamy was her business and her business only.

"Yes," Clarke nodded.

"That's right," she nodded slowly. "You and Octavia are both graduating this year. Speaking of which, you two are supposed to be having that joint graduation party. Did you forget?" Her tone changed to one with a more teasing undertone.

"N-no," Clarke shook her head and scrunched her eyes up for a second. "Um…." Staring at the ground, she shifted her feet and ran through a list of suitable excuses. "I don't really think I want a party anymore. I'm just not….into that."

"Why?" Now his mom sounded concerned, like there was something deathly wrong with her for not wanting a party. "You guys decided this your freshman year."

"I know," Clarke conceded. "Maybe….but I don't think so."

"Come on, Mom," Bellamy interrupted. "Let us inside."

"You're staying?" She looked at Clarke strangely.

"Yes, she's staying. I just told you she can't go home," Bellamy answered for Clarke, edging his mom backwards until all three were inside the house. The house smelled normal. There were no signs that a grand, national holiday was forty-eight hours away. "She can stay in my room. That's how we live at school."

"What happened with your parents, Clarke?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Clarke said in her smallest voice, desperately wanting her to just leave them alone. She asked too many questions. She'd never been like that before. Bellamy's mom looked like she wanted to dig further, deeper, but Bellamy glared at her to quiet down and move aside.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder, rearranging the bags in his hand. He'd brought a lot of stuff for just a week's stay, probably because laundry was free at his house. Clarke didn't need directions. She knew exactly which room was his. It was right down the hall and around the corner from Octavia's. Pushing the door open with his foot, he dropped his bags down, turned around, and spread his arms wide. "Welcome home."

Clarke deposited her backpack onto his bed and looked around. This room was slightly more put together than his room at school, but not by much. At least there was a sense of organization. It probably wouldn't last, but its existence was comforting. The bed was made, red sheets tucked tight around the corners. The tan carpet was free of debris and clothing. The desk wasn't littered with cans, papers, and wrappers. Sun shone through the two windows positioned nicely around the room. The navy blue curtains were drawn just so matching patches of sunlight streamed onto the floor, warming the carpet in those exact spots.

"Sorry about Mom," he apologized.

"I told you she would ask questions," Clarke answered, unzipping her backpack. Her other bag was in his truck. The only good thing about being at his house was being back in the school district. His house was in perfect walking distance from the school, which meant she didn't have to wake up early and take public transportation to get around. That knowledge was her bright side of this entire vacation. Although, she was still dreading when her high school closed for the break.

"How will you cope without partying every night?"

Smirking, Bellamy unzipped one of his bags and dumped a pile of dirty clothes onto the floor. Squatting down, he started sorting things, tossing whites in one direction and colors in another. "Someone has a sense of humor," he commented.

"You'd know, except you're never around," she answered, smiling a tiny smile back at him.

"Well," shrugging, he continued sorting. "You're going to get sick of me, I promise. By the end of this break, you'll be thanking me for going out and getting drunk every night."

"Do you want the bed?"

"Are you crazy?" Looking up at her from his laundry, he stared at her curiously. "No. You take the bed. That's where you sleep at school."

"Yeah, but….I was thinking maybe we could trade. This is your room, your house," she answered, removing some of the jeans she'd rolled up from her bag.

"No," he shook his head furiously. Standing up, he started rummaging through another one of his bags. "So….do you know where that guy lives?"

"What guy?" she asked stupidly.

"You know what guy," he kept his eyes trained on the contents of his bag.

"No," she answered a little too quickly, searching out a place for her clothes.

"If you don't want to tell me, I guess that's fine," Bellamy sniffed and rubbed his nose. "I'd mess that guy's face up. That's probably the only thing he has going for him. He's obviously not that great of a person."

"You don't know him," Clarke pointed out.

Bellamy made a face at her. "I don't need to know him to know that he's an asshole," he said strongly.

"He's twenty, and in the army," she reminded him, mildly amused at his insistence. Sober and at his mom's house, he sounded vaguely like an older brother, a protective male figure. He was extremely keen on beating up a guy he didn't even know. A small dose of happiness welled up in Clarke's stomach.

"Whatever," Bellamy said. "You and I are cool, which means that I like you. He and I are not cool because he did you dirty. That means it's my job, as the guy, to beat this guy's ass."

"You're never gonna find him."

"He's lucky then," Bellamy pantomimed punching and kicking the air. "'Cause I'd put him in the hospital."

This was their longest conversation, and centered on Bellamy assaulting a stranger. He sounded like a douche bag, frat boy more than ever, but it was amusing. Bellamy could do something besides drink and have sex. He could entertain.

"I'm going to get my other bag."

"It should be unlocked still," he said absently, planting his favorite blue _Blake._ hat on his head. "If not, come back and get the keys."

Exiting his room, Clarke rounded the corner and walked a bit down the hallway, deep in thought. By the time she realized she wasn't alone, it was too late. Turning around, or even sprinting away, would've been too obvious.

Raising her eyes, she locked eyes with Octavia, the recipient of her dodges and silent treatment for three whole months. In the same state of shock as her, she just stood there, probably wondering what she was doing in her house. Clarke's voice died in her throat, but her mouth stayed open partially. Nothing came to mind. She couldn't say anything. Did she want to say anything? _No_ , she decided. There was absolutely nothing she could say to Octavia.

She'd grown up with Bellamy's sister. They'd chased each other around on the playground, slept over each other's houses, played in the rain together. Perpetually dateless, they went to the ninth grade winter formal together. Her dress was a teal color she considered perfect at the time. Looking back on it, she should've kept sifting through the racks. Octavia wore black with a teal belt; that was how she decided she would match. They danced together during ever song, even the slow ones. All of their friends made _lesbi-honest_ jokes, but they didn't care. They were having a good time and that was all that counted.

Until Octavia got a wonder bra and snagged the cute guy in her Earth Sciences class at the beginning of sophomore year.

Heart cutting out the sounds of her vocal cords, she pressed herself against the wall, averted her eyes, and sped past. Even if Octavia said anything to her, she decided she wouldn't say anything back.

It wasn't O's fault, but Clarke just couldn't deal.

Thankfully, his truck was unlocked, so she retrieved her bag without a hassle. Re-entering the house, she resisted the urge to creep around like a Russian spy. The halls were empty as she passed through them, but that didn't stop the hairs from standing up on the back of her neck and her arms. Octavia's door was closed. _Good_ , she thought to herself. She wouldn't have been able to look in anyways. If her door had been open, she would've locked her neck into place until it cramped. Back in Bellamy's room, she threw her stuff down a little harder than intended.

"What's wrong with you?" Bellamy turned around.

"Nothing," she mumbled, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," she said sharply.

Taken aback by her one-eighty in demeanor, Bellamy turned back to his bags of clothes. He attributed her sudden anger to the fact she was pregnant. He'd seen on a number of shows that pregnant people had insane mood swings.

Clarke was probably no different.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched her and thought about saying something else, asking her another question. But she looked angry. So he kept his mouth shut and decided that she'd be happy again later.


	4. Chapter 3

"What are you going to tell your mom?" Clarke asked Bellamy while reclining on his bed and rubbing her stomach. Seated on the floor, he scrolled intently through several tabs and pages on his laptop, legs crossed at the ankle, back pressed against the side of his bed.

"About what?" he said mechanically. Clarke rolled just so she could see what he was doing over his shoulder. Some part of her wished he was doing actual schoolwork, a project, a paper, anything remotely educational. Bellamy was deeply invested in a game of Bejeweled.

"School."

"What about school?" he answered in the same tone.

"The fact that you don't go to class," she reminded him unnecessarily.

"I do go to class," he fired back.

"I've never seen you go to class," she pointed out.

"I don't go all the time," he defended himself while contracting more points. "I always go the first day. You always go the first day."

"And then?" Clarke studied his game.

"And then," he shrugged. "I don't really like my classes."

"That's the point of going to college," Clarke replied, staring at the back of his head like he was stupid. Thanks to life, she couldn't afford to go to college. He had the opportunity; his mom was paying for everything, and he was wasting it. If he wanted to get drunk every night, he could've just stayed home. There was no point in moving an hour away to party.

"Maybe for people who have no lives," he countered, connecting another three gems. "I like having fun. Class is boring, partying is not. Which one do you think I'm gonna do?"

"The one your mom's putting her hard-earned money towards," she answered stoically.

Bellamy shrugged again and rubbed his nose. Breaking his staring contest with the computer, he took a nice long drink of his soda before setting the can down. "Everything's under control, princess. I've got this."

Clarke decided that he wasn't going to tell her at all. There was no way he was bringing home good grades. If he could be graded on poisoning his liver, he'd get an A. In the area that counted, the class, he had to be failing. Clarke didn't believe for a second that he actually went to class. Where he went during the day was still a mystery, but she was certain it wasn't to one of the lecture halls. She'd also never seen him do any homework. All of his textbooks were in the same spot day in and day out, unopened and untouched.

"You didn't have any work to do during the break?" she questioned.

"How the hell would I know?" he replied. Clearing the final gems, he cheered as he moved onto the next level. Seizing his soda, he downed the rest of it and threw the empty can onto his desk. Clarke followed the can's arc through the air and then stared at it in its final resting place.

Sighing, she rolled onto her back.

 _He's wasting everything_ , she thought. So was the unfairness of life. He got a free college education; she got a baby. Bellamy's lackadaisical attitude towards not going to class or doing anything remotely academic despite being in a place of higher learning was almost infuriating.

So infuriating, that she wanted to hit him, hard. Bellamy had the outline of her dream. She wanted to go to college so desperately; she would've been going in the Fall. Unlike Bellamy though, she would use the opportunity to its fullest, the right way. "Stop staring me down with those judgy little eyes."

"I'm not judging you."

"Yeah, you are," he laughed. "I can tell by your voice. You're definitely judging me."

"I'm not," she said emphatically. Silence overtook them both. Clarke laid there listening to the sound of jewels being cleared from the board. Every so often, Bellamy cussed beneath his breath and scratched the back of his head. "Do you actually like that band, or did you just buy the poster?"

"A little of both. The poster's sweet, and I actually listen to the band." Shutting his laptop, he thoroughly rubbed his eyes and sighed. "What do you listen to?"

"Coldplay," she answered with a smile.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "But Coldplay's my favorite."

"Everyone loves Coldplay," he answered.

"Because they're more than a band," Clarke said defensively. "They're a way of life." They were even more than that. They were a soundtrack _to_ life.

At dinner, Clarke chose a seat next to Octavia, just so she wouldn't have to look at her. They said nothing to each other, and Clarke only spoke when Bellamy or his mom asked her a question. She wasn't really in a talking mood. The food looked great though. The table covered with a white tablecloth was laden in turkey, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. Everything was steaming, as it was supposed to be on Thanksgiving.

When she dashed from the table to throw up, Bellamy effortlessly came up with a lie, telling his mom and sister that Clarke had gotten sick days before, but insisted on coming anyways.

* * *

Clarke subdued her excitement when it came time to pack up her things and load back up in Bellamy's truck. In the front passenger seat, she watched Bellamy hug his mom briefly and Octavia twice as long. No one had suspected anything. If they did, they were polite enough to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Clarke felt she was entitled to keep lying so long as there wasn't clear, visual evidence. Lying was a strong word. She wasn't lying; she was just keeping something to herself. Leaving their house meant that she could breathe. She could move freely without worrying if she'd lose her voice around the corner.

One afternoon, Bellamy left her in the living room to go get something. He told her to talk to Octavia and catch up since they hadn't seen each other in so long. The room got so quiet that she almost felt the urge to throw up again, this time intentionally so she'd have a reason to escape. When Bellamy came back in the thickest part of the silence, he assumed that he'd just walked in on a break in the conversation. Per usual, he was oblivious.

"Are you okay?" Sliding into the driver's seat, he turned the key in the ignition, and buckled up.

"Yeah."

"You don't need to go the bathroom?"

"No."

"Pregnant people have to go to the bathroom a lot," he commented.

"Shut up!" she hissed.

"What?" He made a face. "Mom's way over there."

"She still might hear you," Clarke argued badly. Lifting her hood up, she covered her head in minute warmth before resting her head against the headrest. "And I'm fine. Let's just….go."

"It wasn't so bad, right?" He backed out of the driveway slowly, checking both ways beforehand. "Only a week. Now we're back to college."

"Right," she snorted, resting a portion of her forehead against the window. The mirror-houses raced past, morphing into a blur as he turned out of the neighborhood. "You're back to doing nothing, and I'm back to going to school."

"Don't sound so excited," he said sarcastically. Grinding her teeth together, she couldn't tell if her comment bothered him. Bellamy mouthed the lyrics to whatever rock song was on the radio. He didn't seem the least bit disturbed. "Did you talk to Octavia before we left?"

"Yeah."

Within ten minutes, they were on the highway.

"Check it out," plugging up his iPod to the speakers, he swapped his attention between its tiny screen and the road. Coldplay came through the speakers. Glancing over, he took note of her reaction before safely returning his focus to the interstate and the cars flying by.

"Why do you wear that hat all the time?" she asked, staring at it.

"What?" Touching the brim, he made a face at her. "You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that."

"Even if you don't, I'm not taking it off," he replied, pressing his foot down on the gas. Sitting up straighter to see in the rearview mirror, he changed lanes and started going faster. "This hat's cool. Has my name on it."

"If you say so."

"Don't make me turn this off," he gestured to the speakers. "I don't even like them that much."

"You said everyone loves Coldplay," Clarke commented, bringing up one of their previous conversations. A car honked as Bellamy swerved in front of them without making sure the lane was clear.

"Yeah, well….I think they're decent," he shrugged without even blinking at their almost accident. "But they're not great enough for car-listening."

"You're crazy," Clarke shook her head, disagreeing with that completely.

"Whatever," he muttered. "They're kinda over-hyped."

"Shut up," Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Why'd you never go out with that Wells kid?"

"What?" she started. The sudden change in conversation caught her off guard.

"Octavia told me he professed his love to you last year," he clarified, lowering his speed some. A police car idled in the middle of the highway. A uniformed officer lounged against the side, clocking speeds with a high-tech radar gun. Clearing his throat, Bellamy did his utmost to look responsible and law-abiding. "Two dorky authority abiding school-lovin' dorks. Figured you'd be perfect together."

"No we're not," she answered.

"I mean… You're…."

She knew what he wanted to say. Being pregnant shouldn't discount her from having relationships with guys. She didn't want to be alone for the rest of her life just because she'd experienced the trimesters earlier than expected. That was unfair to say, and just stupid to think. Having a kid would be weird, maybe. What would guys think of her? By the time she was twenty-two, her kid would be five years old. Her son/daughter would be entering kindergarten. Wistfully, she thought about how she was supposed to graduate from college at twenty-two.

"Maybe later," she mumbled. "Not now."

"That's what I mean," Bellamy agreed, turning the volume up some. "Wells' a good kid. You're a good kid. You two would be good together."

"That's a lot of good."

"I like the word," he said easily. "It's simple, and you can use it with pretty much everything." Bobbing his head in time with a song of the band he said wasn't that great, he continued driving.

"Yeah," shifting in the seat, she rubbed her stomach.

"Winter Break at school starts in three weeks. Its way longer than any one they ever gave us in high school; it's like a godsend. You're staying with me?" Without waiting for her to answer, he kept talking. "Of course you're staying with me. You're stomach's gonna be bigger… Mom might have something to say about that, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know," Clarke said piercingly, rubbing her forehead. He was talking too much for her liking, and it was annoying. Bellamy sounded just like his mom, asking too many questions, not minding his business. She didn't know what she was going to tell anyone, let alone his mom. She'd have the answer before the next break though. Or at least that's what she told herself to truly avoid the issue.

Bellamy stopped talking, once again taking the whip of her words as the side effect of her baby. Keeping his mouth shut, he turned the music up before focusing in on himself. If she liked Coldplay so much, maybe they would put her back in a safe zone. To him, angry pregnant women were like time-bombs. There was no telling when they were going to go off, and how far their destructive forces would reach. He wanted to keep the peace as long as possible. Besides, he was on his way back to school. There were bound to be parties and girls. He didn't want her bad mood rubbing off on him.

* * *

Sweating, Bellamy ascended the steps of his frat house, hand trailing the railing, heart racing. He'd gone for an afternoon run that encompassed a majority of campus. He thoroughly enjoyed running, or just exercising in general. The after-effects were always so great; he always felt empowered and super-human afterwards. Lifting weights was good for his upper-half, but he liked being outdoors and out in the elements more, especially in Spring and Summer. Early fall was good, too. The looks girls gave him were for confirmation more than anything. Bellamy knew he looked good; he especially liked when other people confirmed it with their eyes.

Tugging at the sweat-soaked, Ark Chi Epsilon shirt sticking to his abs, he reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hall, passing by shut doors. Some of the guys were in the library, studying, an act foreign to Bellamy. He hadn't studied since middle school. He didn't really see the point. Freshman year of college, he'd made decent grades, and he'd partied harder than he'd been doing this year. College was about meeting people and having fun, not holing up in the library, overdosing on caffeine, and freaking out over midterms and finals. The future didn't care about what grade he made in the lab.

Within the frat, he was known as the partier, and in his opinion, there was no greater title. He was the one invited to every single event, at every single frat and sorority. Of course he had a reputation of getting drunk all the time, but that wasn't entirely true. For every five parties he attended, he got completely smashed at only two of them.

Hell, being at a party was how he'd met Gina, one of the hottest girls he'd ever seen. His frat had been mixing with Pi Delta Delta, and he'd seen her from across the room, sipping casually from a red cup. She had a reputation as a catty bitch, but he didn't care. She toned it down around him, and….she was hot.

They weren't even really together. What they had was something best described with the word 'open'. She knew he slept with other girls, and he assumed that she took down other dudes. It wasn't that big of a deal. Bellamy wasn't looking for a serious girlfriend, just someone he could lie next to at night and then kick out if they got to be too much in the morning.

Traipsing down the hall, he stared at each of the wooden paddles engraved with initials of brothers' past. Tugging at the midsection of his shirt again, he put his hand out to push open the door and then stopped.

Instead of being open, as expected, the door was cracked. And from where he stood, he had a full view of Clarke, shirtless and seated on his bed. Holding his breath, he studied her figure. She didn't look that much different pregnant. He'd never seen her without a shirt before, but… she looked basically the same as any other half-naked girl. Her bra was black and lacy. Inhaling a bit, he studied the slight curve of her stomach. He tried to think of how it would look in a few months, but failed. Blond hair spilled over her shoulders, shielding her face from view.

It was perfect because he didn't want her to suddenly look up and see him. A closed door meant that she was inside changing clothes; that was the rule they'd established. He'd just been walking; it wasn't his fault. She was the one who hadn't shut the door completely, and it wasn't like he was doing anything truly weird. He was just staring at her. That wasn't that creepy.

Bellamy thought she was pretty. Her hair was so light and she had those almond-shaped eyes that were so green. She reminded him of some celebrity; who he couldn't really think of at the moment.

He'd always thought she was pretty. But she was two years younger than him, and because she hung out with Octavia all the time, she was more like a younger sister than a dating prospect. Even though they'd never really talked prior to her moving in with him, he couldn't date a sibling. It was wrong, and just plain weird.

 _She's in high school and she's pregnant_ , he thought. There was no way they'd be anything. That was even weirder than the two year age difference. He was in college; he liked college girls. Besides, she was supposed to end up with some smarmy do-gooder.

He couldn't take his eyes off her though. Clarke also had that thing about not being touched. _That just makes me want to touch her_ , he reflected. But he had the strange feeling that she thought she was better than him, a thought that wasn't that farfetched.

"Shit." Backing away from the door, he knocked on the side. "Clarke, you in there?"

"Yeah, hold on," she said quickly. He heard movement and rustling, and then the door opened. She'd thrown on a gray t-shirt and a jacket. "Where've you been?"

"Running," he answered while stepping around her. Tossing his iPod down, he dug through his drawer to find a change of clothes. "What are you doing?"

"Homework."

"You're always doing homework."

She didn't have anything to say to that. Shutting the drawer, he twisted his boxers in his hand and glanced around the room. Things felt a little strange since he'd just spied on her. _It's not like she knows_ , he told himself. And again, it wasn't that weird. He'd just been looking. There was no harm in that.

"I'll be in the shower," he said quickly, grabbing his toiletries.

* * *

"Is it true that that girl you live with is pregnant?" Monty Green asked. The two of them were in the neighboring frat house, which meant that Bellamy's journey to booze hadn't been a long one. Tugging his hair off, he sipped from his red cup and wiped his mouth off.

"Yeah," he nodded. Instantly, he remembered that he wasn't supposed to tell people. But….he hadn't exactly told. He was asked, and it was pointless to lie, at least to him. Two girls in short, black dresses stepped over their outstretched legs, headed towards the keg in the corner. He couldn't even blame his affirmative response on drunkenness. He wasn't drunk, only mildly tipsy. A few more drinks could change that though. "But she's okay."

"Isn't she seventeen?" another one of his friends asked. He was wearing white shorts and a sleeveless man-tank; the front bore the letters of his fraternity.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded again.

"Damn," he whistled. "Her life's over."

"Yeah," Bellamy agreed. He felt like an asshole for agreeing, but it was true. Clarke was cool and everything, but she hadn't even graduated high school yet. She was the girl he'd never expected to get pregnant. She was too nice and too smart and too….not the type anyone would expect to become a teen mom. But now she was. And the asshole who did it wasn't even in the picture. Clarke was all alone. Sure, she lived with him now. But what happened after the kid was born? Frat houses weren't the place to raise babies. "She's….it'll be rough."

Wearing a neon blue racerback tank matched with a tight, black skirt, Gina seated herself on the arm of the red couch. Tilting Bellamy's head back, she kissed him on the mouth, and then reached for his cup.

"What are you talking about?"

"Clarke," holding the cup out of her reach, he took another mouthful and swallowed.

"Oh," her voice got a little more nasally, a little more annoyed. Bellamy was so used to that tone that he didn't really pick up on it. "I'm sick of doing it in that spare bedroom. I want to go in your room."

"We can't," he explained for the millionth time. "That's Clarke's bed."

"That's _your_ bed," she said darkly, tracing her blue nails back and forth across his neck.

"She lives in my room," he corrected her. "It's her bed for right now."

"She needs to move out."

"Shut up, Gina," he muttered. Before she'd come over, he'd been in a fairly decent mood. She talked about Clarke all the time, for no good reason. He already said that they weren't doing anything. He wasn't lying either, which made her refusal to trust him irritating. She'd never brought up the fact that he slept with other girls. It was just Clarke.

"Aww," Leaning over, she rubbed the top of his head through his hat. "I wanna go with you tonight."

"No," he finished off the rest of his beer. "I'm not hooking up with you."

"Why not?" her voice sliced through the air.

"I think I'll take someone else home tonight," he replied. He didn't actually mean it. He only said it to piss her off. Looking at her face, he knew that he'd accomplished his goal. Eyes narrowed, she stared back at him. Maintaining his straight face, Bellamy didn't move. He simply shrugged like she should've expected that answer. He wasn't having sex with anyone that night. Even if he'd been in the mood, she'd ruined it by coming over and harping on Clarke being in his room. There was nothing wrong with the spare bedroom.

"Fine," she said shortly. Standing up, she tugged at the bottom of her skirt and stalked across the room, no doubt searching for some drunk frat boy to make him jealous. Sighing happily, Bellamy checked the time on his phone. It was only eleven.

"I think I'm turning in early," he rose from the couch.

"Why? We all know you're not going to class," his friend commented.

"Shut up, man. I got shit to do." That was a lie. The frat house had lost its appeal. He just wanted to go home and lie down. Hopefully the TV in the lounge was free. If people were there, he might have to pretend to be drunker than he actually was so they'd leave.

Half-saluting his friends, he exited the house, jogged down the steps, and headed down the sidewalk. In less than five minutes, he was within the confines of the A.C.E house. Cramming his keys in his pockets, he poked his head in the lounge. All the couches, armchairs, and beanbag chairs were empty. Pumping his fist in the air, he silently celebrated, and then headed up the steps. Reaching his room, he pushed the door open without really thinking. She wasn't awake.

"Damn," it took a second for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The room spun, but cleared; he stood in the doorway, staring into the interior of his bedroom at absolutely nothing. Something stirred in his bed. "Clarke?"

She didn't respond.

"Hey," he said quietly, wondering if she would wake up. Studying the floor to make sure it was clear, he walked carefully over to the side of the bed, and stared down at her. Her blond hair was spread out around her head like some sort of halo.

 _She probably doesn't know I'm here_ , he thought to himself. Like days prior, he studied the slight angles of her face, the way her mouth was partially open. She had school tomorrow, which was probably why she was in bed already.

He heard her sometimes in the morning, walking back and forth between his room and the bathroom. Her movements never really attracted his attention. She was always nice enough to move around the room as if she was invisible. It was impressive.

Reaching his hand out, he hesitated a bit before stroking her forearm. Her skin was so soft. Laughing quietly, he touched her arm again, and then moved to her hair. It was even softer than her skin. Since he wasn't entirely sober, it was like a small child ferociously petting a cat. She still didn't move.

Stepping back, he stared at her sleeping form, kind of wishing she would wake up. Clarke just laid there, probably dreaming about school. Sympathy overtook him; it was sad that she was seventeen and pregnant. She was supposed to go to college next year. He'd never heard her talking about this college, but….she was meant to go somewhere. Now she was just going to sit around all day, taking care of her kid.

That was bound to be a sad, boring life. Turning around, he tossed his hat to the side and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Hopefully something somewhat entertaining would be on downstairs.

"The TV still better be free," he muttered, bouncing down the stairs.

* * *

Sunday morning. Clarke had on a pair of jeans that still fit comfortably, an olive green scoop-neck sweater, and her favorite pair of tennis shoes. Waking up that morning, she showered and tossed her hair up in sleek ponytail. Bellamy had on a pair of basketball shorts and one of his frat hoodies, not to mention that hat. Every time he had it on, Clarke could do nothing but shake her head. He'd been exceptionally nice to her over the past few days, almost like they were friends. His subsequent boredom with lying around on his stomach for hours had resulted in an outing.

On the hood of his truck they sat, eating ice cream in silence. Clarke licked the outer edges of her vanilla cone. People had stared at her when they were standing at the counter. Not really people, just the woman working the register. She'd looked at Clarke's stomach before even bothering to glance up at her face. Once her eyes finally drifted north, they dropped back down to her stomach, and then back up to her face.

Clarke knew the woman was thinking all manner of things, none of which were close to the truth. She was judging, and it made Clarke mad. So mad, that she mumbled what she wanted to Bellamy's shoulder and then walked back to his truck.

While waiting for him to return with ice cold sweetness, she leaned forward in a stance she hoped wouldn't give her away as easily. No one was actually paying attention to her, but she still felt overwhelmingly self-conscious.

"Is Gina your girlfriend?" she inquired, biting a small piece of waffle.

"What? No," Bellamy replied, seemingly offended. He'd gotten a chocolate-dipped cone. Small shards of it had started to melt and drip along with the vanilla interior.

"Then what is she?"

"She's….a girl," he answered, quickly sucking up some ice cream that had run down his finger. "That I occasionally have sex with."

"And she's not your girlfriend?" Clarke asked for clarification.

"No," he said in a monotone voice. "I'm not into relationships right now."

"Why?"

Bellamy just shrugged.

"She's not the one you'd spend the rest of your life with?"

Choking, he held up a hand. Banging a fist against his chest, he stared at her strangely. "Hell no," he said steadfastly. "I'm nineteen years old. I don't want anything to do with a wife right now. But even if I did, she wouldn't be it."

"Why?"

"Gina's….I just like hooking up with her," he said after a moment's hesitation. "She's even kind of fun to hang out with. But consistently being with her….I think I'd shoot myself. She's not that kind of girl you bring home to meet the parents. She's fun; that's it." Biting into his cone, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just wondering," she said shortly. "I was wondering if I could figure out why she thinks I'm a huge whore."

"You're not a whore," he rolled his eyes. "That's another thing of hers that's annoying. She gets really jealous over the smallest things, which I don't understand. I think it's 'cause you and I are….living together, or whatever you want to say. It shouldn't be a problem. She knows I sleep with other girls, and she sleeps with other dudes. She needs to calm the fuck down."

Gina reminded her of some of the girls she went to school with. They sometimes stared at her like she was a giant skank. Most times in the hall, she tried to keep her head down. She didn't know if anyone was looking at her if she couldn't see anyone else's eyes. It was annoying really. It takes two people to create a pregnancy. But everyone always pinned it on the girl, like it was all her fault. It wasn't all her fault. She desperately wanted people to know that, but she didn't want to say it out loud. Even her former friends had shunned her. They never even said 'hi' to her when she walked past; they'd stopped doing that a long time ago.

"You want a boyfriend?" Bellamy asked, taking another chunk out of his cone.

"No," she shook her head fiercely.

"Why?"

"Because," she spoke in a small voice. There was no time for a boyfriend. In between living on campus, going to school, and going to appointments, she barely had time for herself.

And soon, that alone time would be gone. She'd have a live baby, a tiny human, someone relying on her constantly. There were still five months though, five months to cherish the semi-silence of the world. Five months until she graduated high school, and became someone's mom. She shivered, and not because the ice cream was cold.

"You're a cool girl," he nodded. "Most girls your age are all about being with some guy. I don't get it."

"Haven't you ever had a girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he said casually. "But that was in….lemme see….tenth grade. We were together for, like, six months. Then I dated another girl senior year. We were together for three months. I don't know; I don't really do well with relationships."

"Probably because you're so irresponsible," she stated.

"Whoa," he held up a hand and tried to subdue a smirk. "I'm not that irresponsible, okay? I just….don't fall into society's view of responsible. I'm not….I've seen worse. There are people worse than me living on campus as we speak. I could be responsible if I wanted to."

"You don't want to be an adult?"

"I'm nineteen. I don't need to be an adult until I'm thirty-five. And by that time I'll have gotten some chick pregnant, at least three times. And she'll take care of me."

Clarke just stared at him. That was the most appalling answer she'd ever heard.

"I'm just kidding," he laughed a bit. "That's a little sad, even for me."

"What do you even plan on doing with your life?" She didn't want to sound rude, but his attitude was just so grating. He acted like college was some sort of amusement park and he'd just live in his frat house for the rest of his life. That was far from the truth. He had two years left and then what? Did he even have goals?

Bellamy looked a little taken aback. "I don't know." He finished off his cone and crumpled his napkin in his fist. "I don't have to declare a major until the end of this year. I'm gonna try to sneak through and just declare next year."

Clarke rolled her eyes again, this time off to the side. "What classes are you taking?"

"I'm in….microeconomics, some political science class, calculus, and a government class."

"And you don't go to any of them," she said that more as a statement than a question.

"Microeconomics is at nine in the morning," he defended himself. "I left high school two years ago. I didn't come to college so I could keep waking up early. There's a lot of reading, or so I've been told, in the political science class. And math just….it's hard."

"You're not even gonna try?"

"Why are you grilling me right now?" he fired back, rubbing his wrist. Clarke took that as her cue to stop talking. She finished her cone in a brooding silence. "I have plans." That came out of nowhere. "Okay? I just… right now I like parties and sleeping late and random hook-ups. I know that I'm graduating in two years; I got that, and I know that I won't be in college forever. I'm not one of those guys, alright? I'm smarter than that. I just want to have fun before my life is a monotone nine to five job and… doing adult shit."

"What kind of plans?" she inquired evenly.

"I signed up for those classes because I'm thinking about being an economics major," tossing his napkin into a nearby trashcan, he rubbed the back of his neck, like he didn't like admitting that all. He didn't tell her he'd rather major in history, but even _he_ was practical. What the hell could anyone do with a history degree?

"You'll have to wear a suit."

"What?"

"To work," she explained.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," he smiled, clearing the air. "Me in a suit?"

"Yeah, you're right." That thought was kind of a stretch. People in suits typically had to wake up in the morning. Bellamy had just expressed his revulsion with that.

"The sexiest thing you'll ever see," he smirked.

"That wasn't where I was going with that."

Scratching the stubble on his chin, he smiled a little wider. "I like talking to you, Clarke. You're a good friend."

"Friend?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he said pleasantly. "You have to be friends with someone you live with so closely. I mean… you're not as fun to talk to as some of the guys, but for this situation, you're cool."

"What do you and the guys talk about?"

He made a face. "What do you think we talk about?"

"Oh," she swept hair out of her face. Friends. She and Bellamy were friends, as proclaimed by him. He'd even talked negatively about Gina. For a few seconds, he'd sounded remotely mature, talking about aspirations and plans. It was kind of refreshing.

Digging beneath her nails, she paused and thought. He was her friend. She had a college friend. Sure, she lived in his room, but they could still be considered real friends. Right? She definitely didn't have left any in her school.

She felt her heart pounding. Open and closing her fists, she slid her hands up and down the length of her thighs.

"We're friends?"

"Yeah," he nodded, confirming what had already been said. "What, you don't want to be friends with me?"

"No," she shook her head. "I mean yes." Was he really her friend? It had never been so hard to trust someone, or people in general. Recent events had made it difficult to be so willing. "I….there's something…."

She couldn't finish.

Wrinkling his forehead, he glanced over at her. "What's the matter?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she rest her forehead into one of her open palms. Bellamy turned slightly on the chilled hood so he could look fully at her. His smile slowly disappeared into a concerned line. "Clarke, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she shook her head.

"No it's not," he refused to believe her. Her face had paled a bit. "What's the matter with you?"

"I was…." looking away from him, she felt like the entire world was listening. The last word came out so quietly that he leaned forward to hear her better. She didn't repeat it.

"What?"

"He..." she faltered again while trying to quell the rising nausea. "He raped me."

Dazed by the information, he just stared. After a few seconds of blinking and contemplation, he struggled to formulate a sentence. "Who?" That was it. That was all he could come up with.

"Finn," she admitted. Her lips barely moved as she uttered his name. She'd wanted to tell someone for the longest time.

"Finn who?" he questioned. The only Finn he knew was his sister's boyfriend. Instead of continuing, she glared down at the cold tar, at the white lines marking the parking spaces of the strip mall.

"Forget it," she said forcefully.

A chain explosion of thoughts fired off in his head. He studied her hunched form, the side of her head, everything. _No way_ , he thought to himself.

Tears in her eyes, she whipped her head to the left, making direct eye contact with him. "He held me down," she spoke through the sudden chattering of her teeth and her racing heartbeat. Clarke knew what she was talking about. She remembered exactly.

It was near the end of summer, August. She was over at Octavia and Bellamy's house, along with some of their friends. Their day had consisted of a trip to the beach and then downtime at Octavia's house. Bellamy had just left for college a few days earlier. Even if he'd been there, he wouldn't have hung out with them. He'd always done a good job of acting like he was five years older than them as opposed to just two.

At the beach, they tanned, swam, made sandcastles, and played Frisbee. The majority of their conversations consisted of excitement over finally being seniors and graduating. Leaving their sandy bags and towels in their respective cars, they flopped down in the living room to play video games and talk about their upcoming classes for the year.

After losing for the third consecutive round, Clarke got up to go to the bathroom. She'd had to pee like a racehorse for the past hour and half. She went in, did what she had to do, flipped off the lights, and came out. Octavia's boyfriend of three years was just standing there when she came out of the bathroom. He told her he had something in Octavia's room he wanted to show her.

She didn't know that he was going to lock the door. She didn't know that he hadn't intended to show her anything at all. When she got inside, he shoved her. Thinking he was joking, she shoved him back, and laughed. She laughed. Until he pushed her again, harder. She leaned against the bed in order to stabilize herself, but quickly realized that was a bad idea. Once it finally dawned on her that Finn wasn't playing around, she freaked out. But she was already on her best friend's bed. And he was already on top of her with his hand firmly over her mouth. No amount of squirming or fighting got him off of her. He wouldn't move. And no matter how much noise she made, no one heard her. Their friends were right out in the living room, and _no one heard her._

He effortlessly unbuttoned the white button of her pink shorts, revealing her drying pink bikini bottom. She screamed at him to stop, to get off her, but he wasn't listening. And no one else knew because his hand killed her cries for help. She cried and cried and cried, and he didn't stop.

When it was over, he left her there, alone on Octavia's bed, in Octavia's room, a place where she previously had so many good memories, crying, shaking, and bleeding. He went back out to the living room to play games.

After composing herself, she made up an excuse and fled. She ran home, took off everything, and dove into the shower, sobbing the entire way. The clothes she crammed into the bottom of the outside trashcan because she couldn't bear to look at them. They had sand and ocean and blood on them, and she didn't want them anymore. She didn't want anything. She clearly remembered feeling like she wanted to die.

Bellamy gazed at her in a catatonic silence. Clarke didn't even bother to wipe away the tears rolling down her face. The act of telling someone had sapped all of her energy. Staring off into the distance, he ground his teeth together.

"Get in the car."

She didn't move.

"Get. In. The car," he said more forcefully. Hopping off the hood, he whipped the keys out of his pocket. Confused, Clarke used her sleeves to dry her eyes before following him into the car. In the passenger seat, she wasn't even buckled up before he threw his truck in reverse.

In silence, he switched gears and tore out of the parking lot, mumbling to himself. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he rested an elbow on the side panel, alternately stroking his forehead and muttering obscenities.

"Bellamy."

He ignored her.

Seeing the exit sign they were supposed to take to get back to campus pass in the rearview, she thought the worst. Resting her head against the window, she let the tears slide down her cheeks like waterfalls. _What have I done_ , she questioned. They spent an entire hour in the car in a stale, stifling silence. It took some time, but she gradually realized where he was taking her.

The houses and the buildings were more than familiar. Whipping into Finn's neighborhood and completely ignoring the residential speed limit, he sped to the Collins' house, and parked in the driveway. Tearing the keys out of the ignition, and still not speaking to her, he threw his hat off into the backseat, and slammed the door so hard that she jumped.


	5. Chapter 4

Bellamy felt outside of himself. He didn't feel a human. He felt like a monster, an enraged monster. The only thought in his head was about sister's fucking boyfriend raping his friend. Finn raped Clarke. That was why she was pregnant.

He'd had his doubts about the military guy thing from the beginning, but be figured that it was her business. Clarke, for the few times he'd ever spoken to her before she moved in, had never seemed like the kind of girl who would date an army guy. She was four months pregnant with his sister's fucking boyfriend's baby.

And his sister, she didn't even know she was dating a rapist.

Thinking about it, that was probably why Clarke wasn't that excited to go to his house for Thanksgiving either. She was afraid Octavia would have him there.

The thought replayed itself over and over in his head. _He raped her, he raped her, he raped her_. There was nothing else.

He pounded on the door until a kid Clarke's age answered. Pushing past him, he stalked down the hallway, poking his head into the living room. Finn and some other kid sat on the floor playing some shooting game.

Finn turned around at the noise.

"Hey, Bellamy," he greeted him so nonchalantly that Bellamy had no other option but to get more pissed off. "Octavia isn't here." He said, thinking the reason Bellamy was beating down his door was due to his sister's presence at her oh-so-innocent boyfriend's house.

The world went black momentarily and then became appallingly clear. Stalking over, Bellamy latched onto Finn's shoulders, effortlessly hoisting him off the couch and into the air.

"What are you doing?!" He shouted, caught off guard. Finn's friends stared, but didn't move. They stared at Bellamy as if he was on steroids. Clapping his hands over his, Finn tried to get out of the hold, but Bellamy's grip was too much.

Bellamy slammed Finn against the wall.

"Get off me!"

"I know what you did," Bellamy spoke through clenched teeth, dodging Finn's attempt to push his face back a few inches. Repositioning his hands, he tugged him forward and then slammed him into the wall again, harder. Pictures rattled in his wake. The only thing he knew was that he wanted to hurt Finn, badly. "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Clarke standing there, watching the pair. She was still crying. Finn made her cry. He got her pregnant and he made her cry. Clarke was his friend.

Tearing him back once more, he hurled him onto the floor. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!" he screamed, face turning an awful shade of pinkish red from the exertion of shouting. "SHE'S A SWEET GIRL! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!" Still bewildered, Finn's nameless friend just stared, controllers in hand. The other stood near the door, possibly in fear Bellamy would turn his rage to others.

Bellamy was careful not to say what Finn had actually done, but he got the picture. And so did they. Without knowing specifics, they knew that it was something so great that it warranted a surprise visit and subsequent ass-kicking.

He had nothing to say for himself. The sound of Clarke's crying entered Bellamy's reality and he hated this kid. He genuinely hated him for doing something so horrible to a girl so nice who'd never done anything mean to anyone. She put up with his drunk ass on a nightly basis. She didn't deserve what Finn had done to her. No one did.

"If you ever go near her again, I'll kill you," he hissed. Leaning down, he wrapped his hand around Finn's throat until it looked like he couldn't breathe anymore. "DO YOU HEAR ME?! GO NEAR HER AND I SWEAR TO GOD, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Releasing his grip from Finn's throat, he stood back up, straightened his shirt, and turned to go, but not before turning back and with a threatening, "You break up with Octavia tomorrow. Gently. And never fucking touch her. Or else." Shooting Finn's friends with scathing looks, he stalked back in the direction he'd come. Clarke just stood there, crying.

"Clarke!" he shouted her name without looking back.

She didn't move.

"CLARKE!" Yelling louder, he commanded her attention. Turning around, she ducked her head and walked quickly back to the front door. The same silence reared its head when they were back in the car, but he didn't care. He just wanted to be far from here, far from everywhere, somewhere away.

When they got back on campus, he parked his truck in front of the frat house. Seizing her purse, she threw it over her shoulder, and fled the car without saying anything to him. That was perfectly fine with him.

He sat in his truck for hours. The sky was dark and most people were in their dorms. He hadn't moved for hours. When eleven o'clock rolled around, he went inside just to grab a new shirt. Retrieving his hat from the back of his truck, he followed his friends to one of the parties across campus. His one and only goal was to get completely, utterly, and shamefully drunk. Nothing wholesome in the world could alleviate his current affliction.

Alternating cans of beer with shots of vodka, he sat on one of the couches, alone, repeatedly turning girls away and ignoring his friends. He felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he wasn't even the victim here. Everything was so heavy. Sitting up straight became too much of an effort.

Slumping to the side, he struggled to think over the horrible things racing through his head. His sister's boyfriend was a rapist. That piece of shit had _raped_ her in Bellamy's house. And now he was a father. A rapist and a father-to-be. Dating his _sister_. Burying his face in his hands, Bellamy couldn't help the guilt that flooded his veins.

Over Thanksgiving Break, she walked past that room every day and night in order to get to his room. Bellamy felt disgusting. And for some strange reason, he felt like crying. But he couldn't. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd cried.

So he wandered outside and threw up ice cream and booze into the bushes. Doubling over on his hands and knees, he pressed his forehead against the damp grass and battled the growing waves of nausea. They were aggressively painful due to the lack of contents in his stomach. His mouth tasted horrible and he still felt like shit.

He couldn't believe he had actually approved of his sister dating that jackass before. The major question in his head? Why? Why did Finn do it? Clarke was nice. She'd never done anything to anyone. Octavia had been her best friend. And she couldn't even seem to be able to look at her because of what her sleazebag boyfriend did. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt the salty beads drip over his fingers, mixing with the dew on the grass.

Monty, Jasper, and Miller stood off a ways, watching him. None of them could believe that Bellamy threw up. He was a tank. He'd consumed way more alcohol at parties past. Now he was in some weird position on the lawn, ass in the air, not speaking to anyone. He'd been weird the whole night though, refusing to tell any of them what was up. They just assumed it had something to do with Gina.

"Bellamy, you okay?" one of them walked over, carefully stepping over the hedges that now bore the remnants of stuff he didn't even want to know.

Unintelligible sounds came out. The entire world was spinning. Ordering the nauseous waves to leave him, he rolled onto his back, and stared up at the cloudy night sky. A glowing, silver orb danced back and forth, calming him somewhat. Talking was too much effort. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to do anything. Yes he did. He wanted to kill Finn. He wanted to choke him until he stopped breathing. He wanted to hurt him like he'd hurt Clarke, just not in the same way. The orb's arcs slowed down somewhat. Bellamy rolled over onto his side. Grabbing his hat off the ground, he pushed upwards into a standing position, or what felt like one, and stared at the house where people, his fellow friends and classmates, were drinking and socializing so freely.

"Bellamy?"

"Fuck…." he pointed directly at his friend's chest. Forming words was taking too much energy. He needed to lie down. "Everything. Fuck….everything."

"What are you talking about, man?" another one of his friend's asked.

Inhaling deeply, Bellamy straightened up some and stumbled down the sidewalk, heading back towards the A.C.E house.

Halfway there, he threw up again, just from the mere thought of what Clarke had suffered.

* * *

Clarke woke up at five-thirty in the morning, per usual, and started getting ready. Sleeping had been less than comfortable because she'd spent the night on the floor. Around twelve in the morning, Bellamy had stumbled into their room, and she could immediately tell that he was way drunker than she'd ever seen him. Shoving the covers back, she helped him into the room, and into the bed, deciding that, in his state, he could use more than the carpeted floor.

"Catching the bus," she muttered to herself while raking her brush through her hair in the mirror. Her lower back hurt like hell and all she wanted to do was stay in and sleep. But Bellamy was probably going to do that. Since he didn't go to class, and because he was bound to have the worst hangover ever, she knew without a doubt that he wasn't going anywhere. Flipping off the light, she returned to the bedroom, shoved her feet into her shoes, and struggled to make certain all of her necessities were in her backpack for the day. Bellamy stirred in the bed.

Moving more stealthily, she rummaged through both her purse and her backpack.

"Clarke," he moved again, sitting up partially.

Thinking it better to not answer, she didn't. She hadn't really spoken to him since they got back to campus yesterday. He hadn't even come inside, which was fine because she'd spent a good half hour sobbing. Hours passed and he came home completely wasted.

"Clarke," he repeated, sitting up completely and rubbing his head. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his jeans, and planted his forehead into his open palms. "I gotta… I'm gonna take you to school."

"You don't have to," she said quickly. He wasn't in a state to go anywhere. He was still in last night's clothes. It wasn't even light outside, and it looked like he was in pain.

"Yes," holding up a hand, he motioned for her to stop talking. "Yes….I do. I got….keys." Digging his fingers into one of his pockets, he fumbled around for a bit, and then came up empty. "They're…." Shoving the sheets aside, he shuffled over to his desk and started flipping things over. Grabbing them, he held them up. "I got 'em'."

"I can take the bus. You should stay here and sleep it off," she answered, zipping up her backpack and flipping hair over her shoulders so it wouldn't get trapped beneath the less than comfortable black straps.

"How'd I get in the bed?" Somehow, he had managed to keep his hat on while he slept, and he snatched his hat off, and smoothed his dark curls down.

"I put you there," she answered.

"Oh," yawning, he looked at the clock. "It's an hour drive. Come on."

Clarke looked at him skeptically, but then followed him wordlessly out of the room. He'd never offered to drive her to school before. Quite honestly, she thought he didn't even really care. Her school life had nothing to do with him. Education itself didn't seem to interest him, so she just kept quiet about hers. When she woke up in the morning, she did her best to keep quiet and not step on him. That was it. Two simple rules.

In the truck, he turned his heat on a low setting. Still skeptical, she slid into the passenger seat and set her backpack on the floor between her legs. As he drove down the road and the frat house disappeared in the background, she wanted to sleep so badly. She was used to keeping her eyes open in case someone tried to steal her stuff. Eyes drooping from the warmth typically lacking on the bus, she fought to keep her head up. Silently, Bellamy continued driving, merging effortlessly onto the highway and going in the direction of their hometown.

"What time does this even start?" he squinted at the two-story brick building as he pulled into the parking lot.

"Twenty-five minutes," she answered after looking at the clock.

Bellamy pulled into a parking space. Resting his elbow on the side-panel, he closed his eyes and just sat there. Clarke watched him intently before growing bored. This was a nice gesture. She considered the possibility that he was still drunk, a thought that frightened her for a split second.

Twenty-five minutes dragged by slowly. From the comfort of her warm seat, she watched students file off buses and stream inside from the two parking lots. Bellamy still had his eyes closed. _Maybe he's sleeping_ , she thought. Not wanting to wake him up, she unbuckled her seatbelt and picked up her backpack quietly. This was far more difficult than moving around their room. The click of the door-lock attracted his attention. Opening his eyes wide as if he'd just been surprised, he glanced over at her.

"It's been twenty-five minutes?" he glanced at the clock. "I guess it has."

"Yeah," she nodded, hopping out entirely. She tugged at her hoodie. No one else at school had really noticed, at least she hoped. The one person she'd really been trying to hide it from knew now. Her sweater had given her away yesterday. Freezing, she remembered the look on Finn's face as he lay on the floor, choking.

Tears streaming down her face, she'd stared at him dead on, wanting to say something, scream at him, but nothing came out. She'd wanted to shout at Bellamy too; she'd wanted to tell him to let Finn go. He wasn't worth it, and could press charges against Bellamy. And as much as it made her sick to her stomach, Finn was the father of her baby. She didn't want anything to do with him, but she also didn't want him dead.

But the words caught in her throat, because she knew he deserved it. His friends, two of her former friends, had stared at her too. They'd seen, so they knew. And she was willing to bet anything that they'd told some people, who'd probably told other people. It wouldn't be long before people were glaring hard at her stomach, wondering if there was any truth to the rumors.

Bellamy had stood up for her, violently so. And it was appreciated.

"Well…" rubbing his forehead, he turned the key in the ignition to get the engine going again. "Have a nice day."

"Okay."

His expression appeared to be a forced half-smile, like he didn't want to say anything to her at all. Responding to an impulse to half-wave, she shut the door and headed towards the sidewalk. Bellamy sat there for a minute before driving out of the parking lot. Tucking hair behind her ear, she watched it until it became a black speck in the distance.

It was appreciated.

* * *

Back on campus, Bellamy jogged up the stairs and went to his room. Standing around for a moment, he checked the clock again. It was eight-thirty, he realized as he dug through his drawers for a clean shirt. He'd already woken up in last night's clothes. He didn't need to go anywhere else in them. Tugging a faded blue v-neck over his head, he headed over to his closest for some jeans. Snatching a random pair off a hanger, he changed into them. Sliding his feet into boots, he moved stuff around on his desk, searching for a pencil, a pen, a writing utensil of any kind.

After going through two drawers, he found an unopened box beneath a variety of non-school related items. "Fuck," rubbing his chin, he turned around in a mini-circle. He had a backpack too somewhere. He'd come to school with one, so it had to be in his room somewhere. Kicking clothes aside, he checked the base of his dirty laundry mountain. It wasn't there. Reopening his closet, he searched the bottom. Moving a hidden bottle of vodka aside, he shoved some pairs of shoes aside. Triumphant, he pulled it out and hit it so some of the dust would fall off. Stalking back to his desk, he grabbed his microeconomics textbook and shoved it into his backpack. Seizing some pencils and spare erasers he'd come across, he dumped them into the front zipper pocket of his backpack.

Heading into the bathroom, he quickly splashed some water onto his face and then brushed his teeth. Returning to his room, he brushed his hair, grabbed his backpack, and headed out into the November sunlight. Going through his phone, he checked the schedule he'd made three months ago. He had no idea where his classes even were. He just knew that it was Monday morning and he had microeconomics in less than fifteen minutes. Looking around, he stared at the people around him, the ones who were regularly up at this hour.

"Andrews," he murmured, glancing around. Despite never going to class, he knew where all of the academic buildings were on campus.

Nearly out of breath, and with five minutes to spare, he walked into the lecture hall, taken aback by the size. He'd been inside before, but it'd been so long that he'd forgotten over one hundred kids were in his class. Miller double-taked.

"Bellamy?"

"Oh, hey," smiling, Bellamy walked over, tucking his phone in his back pocket.

Miller stared at him, and then around the room as if he was confused. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"You do know that it's almost nine o'clock, right?" Miller questioned, narrowing his eyes at the end.

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded.

"In the morning?"

"Yeah," he repeated.

"What are you… this is a classroom," Miller stated, still perplexed.

"I know," Bellamy said sharply. "I had to take Clarke to school and I just….decided to come."

"I'm still…" in a state of continued shock, Miller kept looking at him as if he was some sort of apparition. "Are you sure you're supposed to be here?"

"Fuck you, man," Bellamy sat down and broke out a notebook.

At three o'clock, Bellamy was back in the parking lot of Clarke's high school, waiting for her. Standing up as tall as he could, he looked over the teenage heads flooding the parking lot and the bus lanes, searching for her.

"Clarke!" cupping his hand over his mouth, he shouted as loudly as possible without being obnoxious, hoping she would turn around or notice him from wherever she was. Nothing happened, so he did it again. A flash of blond hair attracted his attention.

"What are you doing here?" she asked after he made it over to her.

"Picking you up," he answered happily. His day had been pretty decent. Although it hadn't been spent on the couch in the lounge, he still counted it as one of his good days. Calculus had put a slight damper on it, but he still felt pretty good. "Come on. I have homework."

"What?" Remaining in place, she looked at him as if he was confused. He'd gotten that look all day. "You don't have homework. If you're going to lie to me, at least make it believable."

"I'm not lying," he answered defensively, rubbing the back of his neck. "I went to my classes today, and apparently we have a test in microeconomics. I have a lot of reading to do, seeing as how I haven't done any of it."

Clarke kept standing there, looking at him like he was crazy. Shrugging, she followed him to his truck and got inside.

"And I'm doing this every day, by the way," he said while merging onto the highway. "Taking you to school and picking you up. Every day."

"Why?"

"'Cause you're pregnant and you shouldn't be walking alone in the dark every morning," he explained while speeding up and taking one hand off the wheel. "And you know what else you should do?"

"What?" tying her hair into a messy bun, she rest her head against the cool glass.

"You should gimme your number," he said as casually as possible. It wasn't supposed to be creepy. It was for an important reason. He'd been thinking about how to ask her all day, and every option was practically the same thing. Either way, he was bound to sound like he was hitting on her. "You know, if I'm running late or something. So you don't think I've stood you up or… whatever."

She gave him a strange look and smirked just a bit. "You want my number?"

"Yeah," he shrugged easily and switched into another lane. "For… this."

"When we get back to the house," relaxing, she closed her eyes.

When they got back to the house, Bellamy did as promised. While Clarke did her homework on his bed, he flipped through pages and pages and pages of definitions and colored graphs. Although his eyes grew tired, he stayed awake, cramming more information into his brain than he ever had before. Even when Clarke finished all of her assignments, Bellamy remained on the floor, Indian-style, leaning over his book as if sitting so closely would make it all easier to remember. She could barely believe her eyes, but she kept her mouth shut in order to preserve his concentration.

Right before he fell asleep, she gave him her number, and he felt strangely fulfilled. It wasn't creepy. It was just to make communicating with her easier. He was helping her out; that was it.

And so it continued.

Every week, Bellamy and Clarke got up at the same time in the dark cold. He took her to school and he picked her up; he never needed use of the cell phone, but he was sure it would come up in the future. He would rather have it beforehand than leave her standing on the sidewalk, freezing her ass off. Bellamy went to class and took notes and tests.

Back in his room, while passing the time between his classes and picking up Clarke, he read and did homework. When the rest of his house found out that he was actually going to school, they made fun of him, thinking it wasn't going to last. But eventually it became the norm, and it was less entertaining to make fun of him for doing exactly what they were doing.

* * *

On a December afternoon, Bellamy sat in his truck, waiting on Clarke to make her way over. He parked in the same general area every single day, so it was never that hard to find him. If she ever looked lost, he texted her that he could see her, which she never failed to say was 'creepy'; he thought it was funny.

With the heat on, the cold was slightly more bearable. He'd left the frat house with sweats, a long-sleeved, black shirt, and a gray beanie. He didn't like how cold it had gotten. In a couple weeks, he'd be back home for an entire month. It wasn't going to be much better. And there was still a problem with their upcoming winter break.

Getting in the car, Clarke slammed the door more ferociously than normal and turned away from him. Refusing to make eye contact, or say anything-sometimes they actually had conversations in the truck-she buckled up and rubbed her fist beneath her nose. Her stomach had gotten a little bigger, a little more noticeable. Bellamy couldn't tell if that was actually true, or if it was just in his head.

"What's the matter?"

She didn't answer him. She just sat there, sniffling.

Clarke never came across as the kind of girl who cried over stupid things. Something serious must have happened. What were high schoolers notorious for? They liked talking shit. And Clarke provided their typically bland high school experience with the perfect gossip: teen pregnancy.

"Someone say something to you?" he changed his question while getting a little annoyed. She kept to herself, or so he assumed. She never talked about friends or guys or anything. He figured she just went to school to go to class and get her assignments and stuff.

What was the appeal in making fun of the people who did the least? Cocking his head to the side, he looked at her and swallowed some guilt. He used to do that, all the time. He'd been one of those kids in high school. But there'd never been a pregnant girl, at least none that he'd known about. And he'd never made anyone cry. _At least I hope not_.

Slowly, she nodded.

"Who?" Bellamy ground his teeth together and stared over the few remaining in the parking lot, hanging around cars and talking. He wanted to know who was harassing her, because they were assholes. He didn't have to know any of them, boy or girl. He just knew they were assholes. Clarke didn't say anything. "Are girls saying things to you?"

She nodded again.

"Boys saying stuff to you?"

"Y-yes," she answered, wiping beneath her eyes with the sleeve of her faded, pink hoodie. "Ev-every-one's ca-calling m-me… a wh-whore a-and stuff."

"Don't cry, Clarke." That's all he could to say.

"Can we just go?" she asked sharply, wiping her face again.

Obliging, Bellamy turned the key in the ignition and drove back to campus.

Up in their room, Clarke tossed her backpack to the floor and sat on the bed with her back to him. Bellamy stood there, tossing his keys up and down, thinking about some way to make her feel better. Clarke wasn't a whore. He knew whores. He'd slept with whores. Clarke didn't fall into that category at all.

"You should slam the door."

"What?"

"Slam the door," he pointed to it. "Just pretend I'm your annoying older brother and slam the door in my face."

"I don't… no," she shook her head and adjusted her hoodie around her stomach.

"It'll make you feel better," he said enticingly.

Turning around, she looked at him skeptically. The lines were clear on her face, shimmering just a bit in the light coming through the window. Getting up, she walked across the room as he backed up until he was in the hallway. Blinking, she slammed the door so hard that his ears rang for a bit.

Considering his job done for the time being, he descended the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. He'd had a deep craving for chips the whole day.

"What the hell was that?" Miller asked, glancing up from the table.

"Clarke slamming the door," he said casually, opening one of the top cabinets. "Some kids at her school were saying stuff about her, so…."

"'Cause of the pregnant thing?"

"Duh," Bellamy made a face and sat down at the table across from him, crunching thoughtfully. The plastic crinkled as he moved his hand back and forth inside.

"I remember at my school, some girl got knocked up senior year, and kids laid into her," Miller explained, turning a page in his textbook. "It was relentless. It was mostly the girls, 'cause… they're girls. But some of the guys were doing it to, and they said some really horrible things. I feel bad for her. She's only seventeen, right?"

"Yeah," Bellamy nodded and placed the bag on the table, rubbing crumbs off the tip of his fingers, he stared off into space. Is that what they were doing to Clarke? She said that they were calling her a whore, but he was fairly certain that there was more than that. What if it got so bad that she stopped going to school? _She can't do that_ , he mused. She definitely had to graduate from high school. College might not be in her previously planned future, but she at least needed a high school diploma. "How come no one ever blames the guy?"

Miller shrugged.

"She didn't get herself pregnant," Bellamy said somewhat angrily, glaring down at the table. He no longer wanted the chips. He wanted to personally punch all the guys in the face who were talking shit about her. He wouldn't hit the girls; that wasn't as honorable or impressive. He wanted to hit anyone who even looked at her funny. It was just a baby. There were worse things in the world. Getting up from the table, he shook his head, and stalked out of the room. Freezing cold or not, he was in the mood for a run.

* * *

Pressing her chin into her scarf, Clarke hopped out of the car and shut the door, mentally preparing herself for another day of school. The sun was out, but it was basically a joke. There was no warmth whatsoever outside. Looking both ways before she crossed, she noticed Bellamy a few inches from her. Thinking he was just looking at something that reminded him of his high school experience, she started her walk, quickly putting one foot in front of the other. Looking over, she noticed him walking right towards the school.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Going inside with you," he answered, plunging his hands into his pockets.

"What about your classes?"

"I can get my friends to take notes. I'll copy them later," he flashed a brief smile and then jerked his head towards the doors. "We goin' in?"

"You don't have to come inside," she said quietly, shifting from foot to foot. Her lower back was starting to hurt a little from standing in place for so long.

Shrugging, Bellamy started walking again, prompting her to follow him. Standing next to her at her locker, he chewed gum and smirked at the number of girls looking at him and then looking at her. No one was going to say anything though. He wanted to make it more obvious that he was with her, but she had that thing about not being touched. So he stood as close to her as he possibly could without her really noticing. She smelled like apples.

"Take off your hat, please," someone said. Scrutinizing the individual, Bellamy assumed he was one of the security guards.

"I don't go here," he said easily, following Clarke down the hall. As expected, the security guard did absolutely nothing.

"You're laying it on thick, aren't you?" she said over her shoulder.

"What?" weaving in between people, he walked a little faster to catch up.

"That accent," she responded.

"What accent?"

"The fake Australian accent you do," she smiled a noticeable smile and kept going before turning the corner.

"No one else knows that," he said smartly, popping a bubble. It was actually pretty warm inside. He could recall air-conditioning flowing freely throughout the building in the dead of winter. "You don't like guys from Australia?"

She just rolled her eyes.

Mocking offense, he put his hand over his heart and made a face at her. She was so pretty when she smiled. "Gimme your books," he extended his hands.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're a girl," he answered.

Moving over to the side, she turned around and made a face back at him. "And?"

Pretending to think, he faked an aha-moment. "Oh yeah!" he smiled widely. "You're pregnant."

Rolling her almond-shaped eyes, she handed him her books, and then started walking again. Three girls glanced over at him, and then averted their eyes once they realized he was looking back at them.

Turning into a classroom, Clarke walked to her desk, set her backpack down, and slid into the desk with considerable effort. It looked like she couldn't breathe. "They don't have bigger ones?" he set her books down on top of the desk.

"This is fine," she dug through her backpack. "I need to worry about when I'm bigger."

Snagging an empty desk in the back, Bellamy ignored the questioning looks of the kids faces and texted on his phone. When the bell finally rang, he kept playing games and checking his profile. He glanced up momentarily just as the teacher ran her eyes over the class. Adjusting her glasses, she stared right at him.

"Oh, we have a visitor," she sounded confused. Everyone turned around and looked at him as if controlled by invisible wires.

"Oh, yeah," he half-waved.

"Are you… a new student?" she asked with the same level of uncertainty. Flipping through folders, she glanced through them. "I wasn't told I'd have a new student."

"No," he said blandly, leaning back so he could stretch his legs. Collegiate desks were so much more comfortable. If it wasn't for Clarke, he would've left. Both of his legs were completely numb, and he'd been bored before even sitting down. "I'm with her." Did he really look like he still went to high school? The thought turned him off completely.

"Who?" The teacher looked up.

"Her," he repeated, pointing at Clarke's seat indignantly. "Griffin." Bringing his hands behind his head, he stretched. "I'm her guy, so…" Content now that his back wasn't as tight, he returned to playing games on his phone. Mentally, he dared someone to say something negative to her with him present.

The rest of the day went smoothly. He fell asleep a lot, the first time he could actually do so without receiving some sort of punishment. Going through the halls and from classroom to classroom, he didn't hear anything pertaining to a pregnant girl. If anyone had anything to say, they had the good sense to whisper it, or keep it to themselves.

"We have to go, fast," Clarke was nearly running to the truck.

"Why?"

"I just remembered that my appointment's today," she answered. Bellamy unlocked the doors with his remote so she could get in.

"When is it?" he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.

"Four-fifteen."

"Oh, don't worry," he said easily, unperturbed. It was only a little after three. They had their hour drive, and then… he didn't even know where her appointments were. She'd always gone by herself. "I've got this." Biting her nails, Clarke stared at the clock, too, and then peered out the window. "Where is the place anyway?"

"The hospital that's, like, twenty minutes from campus."

"I got this," he repeated, speeding up. He wasn't going to let her be late to her doctor's appointment. If he drove fast enough, he could shave ten minutes off their interstate travel. And instead of going to the house, he would just keep driving to the hospital. He'd never been inside, but he'd heard it was really nice. All the major injuries that couldn't be handled at their little campus medical center were tended to there. It was really expensive though.

"Hey, uh… I don't want to sound like an asshole, and I know it's none of my business, but I know what hospital you're talking about. And it's… I've heard that it costs a lot."

"They have a thing for teen moms," she mumbled, toying with the frayed edged of her sleeve.

"Oh." Silently, he swore at himself for even bringing it up. Deciding that it was best not to say anything else, he just drove.

They made it to the hospital with five minutes to spare. "Do you want me to wait here, or…?" Without any idea of how long it would take, he didn't want to just wait in the car. He was like a young child, or a puppy. He couldn't be left in a car for an extended period of time alone.

"I guess you can come inside," she answered, grabbing her purse. It wasn't the most enthusiastic invitation he'd ever received, but he was going to accept it anyways. Following her, he walked through the automatic double doors and was immediately overcome with the smell of bleach. Everything was glossy and white.

Passing the receptionist desk, Clarke marched towards the elevators. Staring around like a hermit who'd just left his cave, Bellamy examined every button and object. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a hospital.

There were three other people in the lobby when they walked in, all seated, all quiet. They were also all women, more specifically, _pregnant_ women. The light blue, plastic chairs were attached to the wall, and in the center of them was a table with old magazines. Another lady in purple scrubs sat behind the desk, alternately glancing at them and a miniature TV behind the counter.

Feeling slightly out of place, he sat down off to the side, away from the expectant moms. Clarke came over, sat down, and immediately started filling out paperwork. Every magazine on the table was about parenthood. Inadvertently, he sighed.

"What?" Clarke glanced over.

"Nothing."

"You were the one who wanted to come inside."

"I know," he said instantly, agreeing with her. She sounded angry. "Where are the babies?"

"What?"

"Where are the babies?" he repeated. If all these pregnant women were here, there were supposed to be babies. Watching new infants from the protection of a glass window was far more entertaining than sitting in another uncomfortable chair.

"Babies are in the maternity ward," she answered.

"Isn't that what this is?"

Clarke looked at him like he was stupid. "No," she said finally. "The maternity ward is two floors up. This is the floor with obstetricians and gynecologists."

"Ugh," he recoiled unintentionally.

"What?" she made another face. Secretly, he felt that she regretted allowing him to come inside with her.

"Nothing, sorry," he lied. The word 'gynecologist' made some unsavory images pop into his head from a health video they watched in high school of an actual birth.

The large TV meant for visitors displayed some news anchor talking about some story involving the latest winter fashions. Folding his hands, he tapped his feet against the gleaming tiles. It was weird being the only guy in the group. That had never happened, ever. Normally, he wouldn't have complained. But they were married - or so he assumed- and pregnant. That was far different than being surrounded by sorority girls.

Clarke's name was called. As she slowly ascended from her chair, he shifted back and forth. If she left, he would be all by himself.

"Can I come with you?" he blurted out. It wasn't supposed to sound like a frantic plea, but that was how the question came from his mouth.

Adjusting the strap of her purse, she stared at him quizzically. "I guess." Again, she didn't sound that excited to have him accompany her. Without waiting, he followed her as she walked behind the nurse down another long hallway. Every single door was closed. Even though she said that the babies were two floors up, he still looked for them. A middle-aged woman in a white lab jacket smiled from a rolling stool as they entered.

A short, white machine with a screen sat idly in the corner. There was also a bed with that annoying, crinkly white paper lining it. The room smelled like lemons, and the blinds were raised to allow maximum light inside. It was actually really nice for a hospital room. Clarke eased up on the table and lay back after exchanging greetings and information with the doctor.

"And I'm sorry, you are?" the woman shifted her eyes from her clipboard to his face.

"Bellamy," he introduced himself, smiling a little at the end.

"Are you the father?" she asked slowly. The question was justified. Having never seen him before, she didn't know.

"N-" Clarke started.

"Yes," he said before he had time to process the entire question. Lifting her head up, Clarke shot him a look while resting on her elbows. He didn't know what had made him say it. And it didn't really matter. After you say yes to a question like that, you can't correct yourself and say no. "I know I've missed a lot. I've just been so busy with school."

"Are you also a senior?"

"I'm a sophomore in college," he corrected. "The one that's, like, twenty minutes from here."

"Oh," the doctor's face brightened considerably. "That's a good school. My son goes there."

"Great school," he echoed.

"What part of Australia are you from?" she inquired while putting on latex gloves. He could feel Clarke rolling her eyes. The snap the gloves made while closing around her wrists brought a slight frown to his face, a frown he corrected once she looked at him, still smiling.

"I'm not actually from Australia," he explained. "I've just been doing the accent for a long time."

"Oh, you're good," she complimented. "Alright, Clarke. Let's see how you're doing." Adjusting the height of her rolling chair, she lifted Clarke's shirt up, exposing the hill that was her stomach. Bellamy couldn't help but stare at it. From a tube came some goopy, gel-like liquid that she smeared all over her stomach. "Could you grab the lights for me?"

"Uh… yeah," tearing his eyes from her bare skin, he hopped up and flipped off the lights.

"And those blinds," the doctor pointed with a finger not covered with what looked like lube. "Close them a bit, please."

Bellamy did as instructed and sat back down. The blankness of the screen on the white machine was replaced with a black and white image of a kid. There was a head, arms, legs, everything to make up a baby.

Awed, he inched closer and stared at the screen. The doctor moved the hand tool around on Clarke's stomach, pointing out different things, none of which he heard. Everything around him faded to black; there was nothing outside of the screen. It was real life, on a monitor.

"Your son's heartbeat looks normal," she commented.

"It's a boy?" he returned to the room. Glancing between Clarke and the doctor, he looked for some sort of verification. He'd heard the word 'son'.

"Yeah," the doctor nodded.

"Yes!" he said a little loudly. "This is awesome!"

"Men always want boys," she commented.

"Why didn't you tell me it's a boy?" Bellamy's eyes widened, now staring between the ultrasound and Clarke.

"I… wanted to surprise you?" she pieced together.

"Oh, oops," the doctor commented, roaming the little thing around again. Bellamy couldn't take his eyes off the size of the kid's head. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Boy. Clarke was having a boy. Having a girl would've been cool, too, but not as fun as having a boy. Clarke and the doctor started talking again, probably about her next visit. Bellamy was too distracted that she was bringing some testosterone into the world. That was way more exciting than any of his drinking victories.

* * *

"Where were you guys?" Miller asked once they got back. Bellamy leaned against the fridge with a stupid smile on his face. He couldn't get the image of the baby out of his head. He wanted to tell someone about it, but he felt that they wouldn't get it, or care as much as he did. None of them had been there; they hadn't seen what he'd seen. "On a date?"

"No," losing the smile, he made a face. "At her appointment."

"What? Is she your girlfriend now?" Murphy asked upon entering. Turning one of the kitchen table chairs backwards, he flopped down and raised an interested eyebrow. Murphy was one of the bigger guys in the house, and he was pretty well known on campus since he was one of the better football players.

"No," Bellamy answered.

"Then what is she?" Murphy pressed.

"Yeah, you said she's your friend. But you're going to her appointments and stuff," Miller sided with Murphy. He left the end open. "Sounds serious."

"She's my girl," Bellamy answered after a moment's pondering. "That's it."

"What the hell is that?" Miller fired back. "Your girl?"

"She's not my girlfriend, alright?"

"Yeah, he has Gina," Murphy stood up and motioned for Bellamy to move from in front of the fridge.

"She's not my girlfriend either," Bellamy said quickly. He watched as Murphy started eating pickles straight from the jar. "And with Clarke… I mean… I might like her a little."

"You have to like her," Miller said sarcastically. "You got her pregnant."

"That's _your_ kid?!" Murphy stopped eating, pickle halfway to his mouth.

"Duh that's his kid," Miller looked at Murphy like he was the biggest idiot in the world. "She moves in and she's magically pregnant three months later? Think about it."

"Seriously?" Murphy wouldn't stop looking at him.

"Yeah," Bellamy agreed with Miller. "But, even with that… it's not the same thing. We were just friends when that happened. It wasn't like she was my girlfriend or anything."

"So, what?" Murphy crunched down on another pickle and stared at Bellamy. "You want to go out with her?"

"No," Bellamy shook his head before glancing down at the floor. "Well… no, I can't. I can't like her like that. She's seventeen."

"You liked her enough to have sex with her," Miller countered.

"Shut up!" Bellamy retorted. "She's great, I'll say that. Gorgeous. Fucking look at her. But she - _we've_ got enough going on without doing some bullshit dating thing. She's my girl, that's it. Shut up, man."

Raking fingers through his hair, he looked over their heads. He couldn't go out with her. She was seventeen and he had that thing about not being with high school girls. And the whole pregnant thing made it a little weird. "I have to go do homework."

Without waiting on them to say anything else, he turned and left the room. Secretly, he wanted to see her stomach again, but he didn't know how to ask her without coming off as all levels of sketchy.


	6. Chapter 5

It had been a while since he'd seen or talked to his baby sister.

Bellamy didn't know when it happened, or even realized it, but sometime between Clarke moving in and announcing her pregnancy, it happened. He didn't blame her, of course. But it was probably the longest time he'd ever gone without at least talking to her.

She'd grilled him at first, back when Clarke moved in with him. He didn't know what to tell her then, he didn't even know. And now... he still didn't feel like it was his place to tell Octavia how and why Clarke was pregnant. If she hadn't already figured that out herself.

Bellamy was this close to telling Octavia the truth. He didn't know if Finn followed through with Bellamy's threat and broke up with her, and he needed to know. Needed to know before that asshole hurt her. If he hadn't already. The thought of Octavia suffering what Clarke did was enough to make his vision red and his stomach churn uncomfortably. Absolutely nothing would stop him from killing that asshole if his victim count included Octavia.

O was his sister, his responsibility. He was going to go crazy with all these secrets piled one atop the other, rocking precariously, ready to topple over at the slightest addition.

Bellamy looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since he had come home. Her brown locks hung limp around her face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her cheek bones were too prominent, as though she had lost weight. She was unnaturally pale for someone who had a darker natural skin tone. She looked as though she would break at the mere touch of his hand.

 _What happened to her while I was gone,_ he wondered _._ Did Finn hurt her?

"What do you want?" The combination of her tiredness and irritation made the words sound sharp.

"I wanted to apologize." His hands were in his pockets, and he gazed down at the carpet.

"You do?"

"We haven't talked in... months." He looked up at Octavia with a sheepish look. "And you deserve to know why."

"Oh." Octavia wasn't sure what to say to that, but her irritation with him evaporated.

"Clarkes pregnant."

She looked at him as If he were an idiot for stating the obvious. He was familiar with that look; Clarke herself often graced him with that look, though it was becoming less frequent by the day.

"Is Finn... Is he the father?" Octavia laughed humorlessly.

Bellamy's gaze fixated on a patch of cream colored carpet stained with grape Kool-Aid. Octavia had spilled it last summer and left it to set. He had scrubbed at it for hours, afraid to add chemicals to the mix. Somehow, she had managed to keep it from skirting Aurora's attention.

"Yes," was all he said.

"That's not... Clarke couldn't do that to me." Her eyebrows knit together, trying to piece it together. He could almost see the clogs churning in her head.

"No. She wouldn't."

"What do you mean..." It connected. "No," Octavia shook her head. Clarke must've been confused. She must've just been mistaking Finn for some other asshole, some asshole who thought it was okay to take advantage of a girl. "No, he didn't. Finn wouldn't….wouldn't do that, Bell."

This was all too familiar, a déjà vu repeat of the ice cream shop.

His silence must have confirmed her thoughts, because a minute later she stood abruptly, her eyes far off like a deer in headlights. "That's why she's been avoiding me? Because... That son of a bitch. Oh my god, Clarke. It all makes sense." She paced the small bedroom, her fingers knitted through her hair. "No wonder she can't even look me in the face."

Suddenly Octavia crashed into Bellamy, her hands looping around his shoulders. He followed suit, returning her hug.

"She's lucky to have you," Octavia murmured. "She needs someone and you stepped up."

* * *

Bellamy started doing things for Clarke that invited all sorts of comments about him being whipped. At first it was annoying, but then it just became funny. He skipped out on a party to watch a movie with her. If she woke up hungry, he went downstairs and made food for her. In the early mornings and on weekend afternoons, he sat outside the bathroom and refused to let any of the guys in while she showered. He even walked with her in the cold when she had the sudden urge to be outdoors in the winds and the light dusting of snow.

One thing she still didn't get was why he lied about being the baby's father at the appointment. Not only that, apparently he'd told the same story to all his friends. She figured that it wasn't that hard to believe. She was seventeen years old, pregnant, and living in his room. Not many guys would be so generous unless they were responsible for the pregnancy.

There was one problem with his acceptance of the role as father-to-be. If his friends knew, it wouldn't take long before Gina found out. She didn't want Gina looking at her with even more hatred than she already did. She didn't want to see her face. She wanted nothing more than to run if she actually saw her, but that wouldn't be happening any time soon.

"Bellamy," she called in the darkness. Rolling onto her side and pushing the tangled strands of hair out her face, she struggled to make out his form on the floor. "Bellamy."

"What?" He woke up after a minute or so of calling his name. "Clarke?"

"Yeah."

"You're hungry?" he guessed correctly.

"I'm not even hungry. I just want it," she answered.

"What?" pushing his comforter off, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His black t-shirt was slightly crooked.

"Pickles and peanut butter," she sat up with effort.

"Ugh," he scoffed, sounding disgusted. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," she said feebly. "I don't know why. I would never eat that normally because it even sounds gross now. But I want it."

"Okay." Rising from the ground, his knees cracked. "Okay… okay, I'm going." Stumbling around the room for a second, he walked to the door, opened it, and walked out.

Five minutes passed and he turned, shutting the door with his foot. Walking over to the edge of the bed, he handed her a small plate. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he stalked over to his desk and turned on his silver desk light. Opening his laptop, he turned on one of the Coldplay albums he'd downloaded for her listening purposes. "I put the peanut butter on top," he laid back down.

Biting into one, she was overcome by the taste of vinegar and peanuts. It was horrible, but somehow delicious at the same time. "We have to figure out what we're going to do for the break," he said from the floor.

"What do you mean?" she asked while biting into her second slice. This one actually tasted pretty good.

"Where are we gonna go?"

"I thought we were going to your house," she answered, scraping the peanut butter off the top of two of the pickles and eating it separately.

"Yeah, but…" sighing, he rubbed his forehead. "If I had money, I'd get us a hotel room. But I'm broke, because I'm a college kid. And we can't stay on campus."

"I can…" she wanted to say something logical, something reassuring, but she couldn't come up with anything. It felt wrong that he was readjusting his break for her. _He shouldn't be doing that_ , she thought. Swallowing peanut butter, she felt guilty.

Glancing around the room, she probed the inner recesses of her mind for some sort of idea. Where could she go for the break? She didn't have a home anymore, and college kids got an entire month off from school. Her official break wasn't until a week after Bellamy's started, and even then, it was only two weeks.

"Like… you gotta come with me," he reasoned. He said it inarguably; there was nothing she could say to contradict him. "And I know you can't go anywhere else." At least he was good with Octavia, but his mom was a whole other story. Octavia would give Clarke the space she needed.

"I could," she said half-heartedly. "You shouldn't not go home because of me."

"Yeah, but," letting out a low, disgruntled sound, he stared up at the ceiling. "I can't be in the same town with that jackass without itching to murder him, and then Mom's gonna ask questions and shit. You're… no offense, pretty big, now."

"Hey," she frowned.

"I said no offense," he held up his hands. "Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. I'll just tell her to mind her own business. I've got it under control. And for school and stuff, I'll still take you every morning and pick you up."

Sitting quietly, Clarke stared down at him. Lying on his back, wearing a black shirt and gray sweatpants, he laid one arm over his eyes. He was doing way more for her than she would have ever given him credit. At times though, she felt like a parasite, a burden. He woke up every morning, earlier than he had to, just to take her to school. He drove an hour to come pick her up in the afternoon, and then an hour back to campus. She used up his gas, his money, his heat. She was taking and she had nothing to give back. Bellamy slept on the floor every single night. She'd taken over his room. Occasionally, she genuinely felt like she was singlehandedly destroying his college experience. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked quietly.

"'Cause," he said without removing his arm. The jet black material clung tightly to his biceps and his abs, and for an undeniable second, Clarke realized he really was exceedingly attractive. She could normally ignore that, but her hormones couldn't. "You're my girl."

What did that even mean?

"I'm ruining everything."

"Who said that?" he moved his arm and stared at her intently.

"Me."

"You're not ruining anything," he put his arm back once he realized that someone hadn't offended her. "You're pregnant. It happens."

The average seventeen year old wasn't pregnant and living in a frat house.

"And there are worse things," he said casually. "If you're feeling bad, you shouldn't. I get that your hormones are basically on speed, but… you shouldn't feel bad. Everything's fine, Clarke. It's your senior year; you should be happy, all the time. This is your last year in fuckin' high school."

"I would be happy," she set the plate aside. "Except I'm five months pregnant."

"It happens," he said simply, as if the incident was common enough to elicit that phrase. "And I still like you. My opinion is definitely the highest thing in your life right now, so…"

She smiled in the semi-darkness.

"You done?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." Getting back up, he flipped the light off but kept the Coldplay going. As she settled back beneath the covers, she listened to him move around on the floor. "Don't tell anyone this either, but I'm starting to fall in love with Coldplay. I was in class the other day and I just started humming 'Speed of Sound'."

"I told you," she said smartly. "They're a way of life."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You'll get there," she said knowingly, closing her eyes.

* * *

"Alright, you got everything?" Bellamy asked over his shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Bathroom?" he questioned.

"No," she said immediately. He asked her that every time they left the house. It was a valid question, but it was also extremely annoying. Considering that she was basically an adult, she didn't need him to ask her if she needed to use the bathroom like a five year old.

"Going to see your mommy?" Miller joked, staring at them from the lounge. Bellamy had all the bags, his and hers, thrown across his shoulders and wrapped around his chest.

"Hell yeah," Bellamy replied, smiling. "I've been looking forward to this since the semester started. I need a month off."

Miller laughed in agreement. "What about you, Clarke?"

"She's coming with me," Bellamy said quickly. He didn't even give her the opportunity to answer. "Where the hell else would she go?"

"Her parent's house?" Miller guessed.

"No," Bellamy smiled slowly and shook his head. "They don't want me anywhere on their property."

Nodding understandingly, Miller drank slowly from a steaming mug of what looked like coffee. "You guys have fun, then," he raised his mug to them.

"You sure you don't have to pee?"

"Shut up, Bellamy," grabbing the keys from his hand, she pushed open the front door and unlocked his truck from the warmth of the indoors.

"You look nice," he said once they were inside the truck, buckled up and ready to head down the road.

"No, I don't," she rest her head against the window and sighed. She was wearing a black hoodie with her school's red and yellow mascot on the front and a pair of sweat pants. Since she wasn't actually going to school, she hadn't seen the point in dressing nicely.

"It's not the best I've seen," he answered while backing out of the parking space. "But it's not the worst."

"Thanks," she said dryly.

"You look nice," he repeated, driving carefully over the ice on the road. "Trust me. I'm an expert at knowing when girls look good."

They made the drive in forty-five minutes courtesy of Bellamy's speeding. How he wasn't pulled over and cited for reckless driving Clarke didn't know. But when he pulled up alongside the sidewalk in front of his house, she was thankful even though she didn't want to be there.

"So…" tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he glanced towards the front door and then around the rest of the neighborhood. "You ready?"

Clarke chose not to answer. No she wasn't ready. What kind of question was that? She'd just been at his house not too long ago and her stomach was manageable and easy to hide. The same didn't hold true now. Even in her hoodie that had previously been a little big for her, it was now obvious that she was pregnant. Three weeks and she had suddenly popped out.

"We can go up first," he opened the door, shivered and hopped out. "I can get the bags later."

Following after him, her seatbelt buckle accidentally clicked against the window. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her hair as best she could and pasted on an easy-going face. All she really wanted to do was jump off a cliff. Blowing tiny puffs of smoke out of his mouth from the chill in the air, Bellamy rang the doorbell and waited.

"You made it!" his mom opened the door excitedly and nearly knocked Clarke over with it. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and gushed over how he looked so different than the last time she'd seen him. Clarke didn't get what she was talking about; he looked the same to her. Maybe that was because they lived together and she saw him every day. Bellamy's mom hugged her, too, and her face changed as soon as she stepped back. Taking on that inquisitive look she'd seen many times over the years, she stared at Clarke strangely, but said nothing. Exhaling, Clarke glanced around and maintained the same level of silence.

"Okay, we're cold," Bellamy directed them inside. Checking over his shoulder while his mom shut the door, he lowered his voice. "She's not gonna say anything."

"But she noticed," Clarke answered.

"She's not gonna say anything," he repeated, sounding completely sure of himself. Maybe she didn't notice, she considered hopefully. Maybe his mom thought she just gained a whole bunch of weight, stress-weight related to senior year. Maybe that was it. She knew it was wishful thinking, but it was nice.

"You can go in my room if you want, Clarke."

Without waiting for a second option, Clarke waddled as quickly as she could to his room. She didn't want to wait for his mom to ask her any questions.

Five days. Five whole days. That was all it took for her to be truly sick of the house. After the first two, she concluded that Bellamy's mom knew. After the first two, she didn't even attempt to hide it anymore. Every time they were in the same room, she felt her eyes on her, watching her. Neither of them said anything to each other. Clarke was the five months' pregnant elephant in the room, which meant she wasn't the nice girl she'd seemed all those years. She knew their mom was judging her. She saw it in her eyes at the table, in the hallways, and pretty much everywhere else. _She probably thinks the same things that the girls at school do_ , Clarke thought.

Leaning against the wall outside of the kitchen, she eavesdropped on Bellamy and his mom cleaning up after dinner. Their mom did a wonderful job of acting like she wasn't even there now that there were five people at the table instead of just four. If it wasn't blatant ignorance, the two put on their fakest smiles and laughs and masqueraded around her children. Bellamy didn't notice, and Octavia made small talk with her at home and at school, and gave her encouraging smiles here and there. She knew Bellamy had talked to her, and even though their friendship was strained, the tension was no longer palpable.

"I'm telling you," his mom started off. "She was such a nice girl. And if she's this big now, that means she was pregnant the last time you two were here. Did you know that?"

"Yeah," Bellamy said lamely.

"She's seventeen years old. She's throwing her whole life away," she continued. Clarke heard the sink come on. "Girls these days have no qualms about anything. When I was in school, teenage girls weren't getting pregnant left and right like they are today."

"Mm-hm," he said absently.

"Clarke never struck me as the kind of girl who'd end up pregnant either," she carried on. The water shut off. "She's a smart girl; she was heading somewhere. Obviously, she's not as smart as I gave her credit for because… well, look at her now." Clarke swallowed the emptiness rising in her throat and ground her teeth together. Bellamy's mom had plenty to say, just not to her face. She was quite the riveting conversation piece when she wasn't around. "Does she know who the father is at least?"

"Could you stop?" Bellamy said sharply. Clarke's ears perked up at his change of tone.

"What?"

"Just… stop," it sounded like he wanted to throw an f-word in the middle of that demand. "Stop it, Mom. You keep talking about her like she's some kind of slut. She's _still_ a nice girl even though she's pregnant. She's _still_ smart, she's still… everything. It happens. Her whole life isn't over just 'cause she's gonna have a kid."

"I'm just trying to figure out whether she's carrying a random baby or-"

"No!" Bellamy cut her off and sounded ten times more aggressive than he did previously. "She's not. I just told you she's not like that. She's not carrying some random dude's baby, okay?! It's mine! So stop talking about her, stop giving her those weird looks, and just… leave her alone! It's not her fault, goddammit!"

Silently, Clarke swore. Telling his friends and the doctor that the baby was his was one thing. Announcing it to his mom in the middle of an argument was another. She knew the looks wouldn't go away. If his mom thought so poorly of her now, her reputation certainly wasn't going to rise. Even with those thoughts going through her head, she couldn't hide the smile on her face. Bellamy had defended her once again.

A few hours later, he appeared in his room as she perused tumblr on her laptop.

"Let's go do something," he pulled a straw out of his mouth and leaned against the wall. Reaching his hand backward, he cracked the door.

"What?" she glanced up.

"I wanna go out and do something," he answered.

"I'm tired," she replied.

"Come on," he coaxed. "You have to be hungry. Let's go get dinner or something."

"Isn't your mom making dinner?" she countered, tucking hair behind her ear. Bellamy faltered and dug the toe of his sock into the carpet. Exhaling, he chewed silently on his straw and studied the floor.

"She's pissing me off, alright?" he sounded agitated. "Let's just go get dinner." Tossing the straw on his desk, he continued. "I don't even want to be here right now. Let's just leave her to eat by herself. Let's do something."

Glancing up, Clarke could tell from the look in his eyes that he was serious. He wanted to leave. And if he left, she wouldn't have a buffer between her and his mom, who'd probably stare at her like she had three tits or something. Her stomach involuntarily grumbled. She would've much preferred staying in, like they'd done since arriving. Sliding her laptop to the side, she closed the lid and reached for a hair tie.

"Fine," she relented.

After grabbing coats, they headed outdoors. Light oranges and reds painted the sky as the sun descended. Bellamy turned the radio up a little loudly, but she kept her mouth shut. She knew he was in a mood, one she'd never seen before. Either way, she felt it unnecessary to complain about how loud the music was. After twenty-five minutes on the road, he pulled into a parking lot of a decently packed restaurant.

"This is nice," she commented, somewhat astonished, while removing her hands from her pockets. She thought they were going to get fast food and eat in his truck. They'd arrived at a fancy restaurant. Looking past the hostess, she stared at the bar with the glittering bottles and glasses hanging upside down. Behind the racks of alcohol and liquor, a TV showed one of the football games.

The hostess behind her tiny podium wore a crisp, white shirt, a black skirt, and a smile. After flirting with Bellamy, she led them to one of the tables near the back. Sliding into the booth was a little difficult, but Clarke found that if she sucked in enough, she was able to sit somewhat comfortably.

"I think we need a table," Bellamy commented after catching the look on her face.

"No, we don't," Clarke said quickly.

"Yeah, you do," he answered. "She's pregnant." As if the woman hadn't noticed.

"Sure," the woman beamed and picked up the menus. "There's a table right over here. Not a problem."

Rolling her eyes, Clarke grabbed her bag, sucked in again, slid out, and then flopped down into one of the chairs surrounding a small table. It was topped with shiny glass and outlined with opaque, white flowers. Their cheery hostess waltzed off back to her post, leaving them alone. Biting one of his nails, Bellamy opened his menu and started mumbling to himself about what to order.

"I thought we were going to get fast food," she commented and straightened up in her seat. The plush backing was actually quite comfortable.

"What?" his eyes appeared over his menu. "You don't like this?"

"No, I mean-I do," she corrected herself so he wouldn't get the wrong idea. "But… it's… I mean, like… isn't this expensive?"

"No," he waved that idea off. "I've eaten here plenty of times. It's fine." Flattening his menu on the table, he combed over the items listed. "You can't have fish though."

"What?"

"It might have mercury in it," he said plainly. "Baby." Without looking at her, gestured to the general direction of her stomach. "I read it online."

"I was just going to get a salad anyway," she answered.

When had he been reading baby information online?

In five minutes, they ordered. In another twenty, they were eating. Clarke plunged her fork into her salad, while Bellamy stabbed his steak.

"So… you'll have to forgive me for this, but…" she piled salad into her mouth before continuing, just so he'd pay attention. It also gave her more time so she could plan out how her admission would go. "I listened to you and your mom earlier."

"Oh yeah?" he seemed unfazed. Cutting another chunk off, he thrust his fork into his mouth and chewed while making direct eye contact with her.

"Yeah. And I heard what you said."

"Yeah?" he repeated.

"Yeah," she nodded, mildly annoyed at his unenthusiastic responses. "And you have to take back what you said."

"Why?"

"Because it's not true," she reasoned. Using her fork, she scraped carrots off part of the lettuce.

"That's not exactly something you can take back," Bellamy shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Once you say it, it's done, Clarke."

"It would be different if you were actually telling the truth," she argued. She'd already moved into his room and basically consumed his life with her problems. He didn't have to go around telling people that he was the father of a child they both knew wasn't his.

"I already said it," he said calmly. "It's done." That was his justification? It wasn't done. It was far from done. In fact, it would never be done. "And besides, you didn't… well, you did hear. But she's been doing it this entire time, talking about you like your some kind of whore or something. I hate that shit, especially since it's not true. Not you. You're not like that."

"Okay, well if she didn't hate me before, she definitely does now," Clarke argued further. "In her mind, you brought home a pregnant, seventeen year old girl. No mom is ever proud or happy with that situation."

"She'll have to get over it then," he said staunchly, drinking deeply from his glass of soda. "You're my friend, which means you're my problem."

"Your problem?" Clarke narrowed her eyes.

"Get your hormones together," he sighed. "You know what I mean. If she doesn't like it, too bad. This is it now. There's no going back." He studied her quietly. "You don't want me to keep telling people?"

"No, it's not that," she wiped up excess ranch with her lettuce and crunched slowly.

"I mean," he smiled a little. "I could be… someone's dad. Hell, I think I'd be awesome. You know? Kids, especially babies, all they do is play, sleep, and poop."

"It's not that easy," she shook her head. Raising children was anything but easy. If it was as simple as Bellamy made it sound, people would have kids all the time.

"How do you know?" he raise an eyebrow. "He's not even here yet."

"Bellamy, there's more than just playing and sleeping and the occasional diaper," rubbing her forehead, she exhaled. There was no reason for her to be explaining this to him. "There are diapers and feeding and teaching and… all kinds of other stuff. There are gonna be sleepless nights, vomit, screaming, crying, and annoying trips to the mall. There will be everything you _never_ wanted to deal with, at least not right now."

"You sell it so well," he answered sarcastically, tipping up his glass to get the ice at the bottom. "You don't have to talk to me like I'm an idiot. I know I'm not some Ivy League contender like that Wells kid, or… most motivated guy, but I know there's more to babies than the fun stuff. But you're my friend, and I'm gonna help you. I got this, Clarke. You'll see." Tapping his fingers on the table, he glanced around the emptying restaurant. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he checked the time. "Let's get ice cream."

Bellamy paid for them both without hesitation, and within ten minutes, they were seated at an outdoor table, eating ice cream in the freezing night air.

"What'd you want to be?" he questioned, licking his cone.

"Huh?"

"Before this," he clarified. "You're smart so I know you were gonna go to school. But for what?"

Squashing her dreams in her throat, she shrugged and pretended to be idealess.

"Come on," he encouraged. "You heard about my stuff. Tell me yours."

"I wanted to be a doctor," she said after pausing. Holding her ice cream in one hand, she wiped her mouth off with the back of her opposite hand. Cars whizzed up and down the street. Momentarily, she got distracted by the taillights and the traffic colors. "And then paint, when I had any free time."

"Damn," he whistled. "That's… cool."

"I want to help people. I want to do something that matters."

"You could still do it."

Snorting, Clarke wiped ice cream off the end of her nose. "That's hilarious, Bellamy."

"What?"

"You and I both know that I can't."

"You can have a kid and still go to college and med school and be a doctor and a painter," he replied, confused.

"No," shaking her head, she bit into a small portion of her ice cream to reduce the chance of brain freeze. "It was a dream, and that's all it'll ever be."

She hid her frown behind the calming taste of the ice cream.

Bellamy changed the conversation topic, detecting that she didn't want to keep talking about the dreams that had become fallen satellites. "You ever have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"How?" he said incredulously. She looked at him again to meet his stare.

"What?"

"You're…" he cut himself off and bit his top lip. "Never mind. I think I meant to say why."

"Doesn't really matter," she replied softly. "And I don't really have to count on anyone coming into my life anytime soon."

"That's not true."

"I'm having a baby, Bellamy," she said roughly, licking some of the beads pooling around the top of the cone. "No guy my age is willing to have a girlfriend with a kid. No guy's parents would want that either."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"I can date when this one" - she rest a hand on her stomach - "turns eighteen. So, I'll be thirty-eight." She masked her depression well. Thirty-eight. That was horrifying; that was her worst nightmare. She wanted to date and go out and have fun just like everyone else.

She'd spent so many nights fantasizing about finally going off to college and meeting guys and hopefully going on that sought after first date. She wanted experiences just like everyone else. It wasn't fair. The situation and life itself wasn't fair. Everything had gone downhill so painfully, so quickly.

"How many girls have you slept with?"

"What?" he almost choked.

"You heard me. How many?"

"I….," clearing his throat, he glanced up the road and didn't say anything.

"Is it more than one hand?" she inquired.

"Yeah," he answered instantly.

"More than two hands?"

"What?" he rubbed his neck and looked everywhere but her face. Silently, she wondered why he was suddenly being so weird. "I mean… why?"

"You've slept with more than ten people?" his avoidance was clear confirmation.

He hesitated. "I don't want you to think I'm some kind of…."

"Man-whore?" she offered.

"It's less than four hands," he replied, finally making eye contact with her.

"Why?" It was between two and four hands. Ten to twenty. She wondered if that was average for guys his age. But Bellamy was gorgeous, so maybe it was better than average.

"I… like having sex," he said after a minute or two. "And I like it with different people and… why are we talking about this?"

"Just wondering," she finished off her cone.

"You think differently of me now," he claimed after the conversation stalled.

"No," she lied.

"Yeah you do. In your… girl head. I don't know exactly what you're thinking, but I know it's bad," he carried on. "You think that's too many people, don't you?"

"No," she repeated, shaking her head from side to side.

"Eleven girls," he admitted. "I've had sex with eleven girls."

"You didn't have to say the exact number," she muttered. She knew that he frequently slept with girls, but she hadn't expected such a number. It definitely wasn't the highest, she thought. Not for a cute guy in college where everyone's experimenting and tasting their first bit of freedom away from home.

"I would take some of them back if I could," he said defensively. "A good… five of them were drunken hook-ups. So… counting girls I actually wanted to sleep with, like hardcore, we're looking at six."

"Shut up, Bellamy."

"Okay," he agreed.

* * *

Two weeks into their stay, Clarke got an idea. No one else was around. Octavia was with her friends, the ones that shunned Clarke. Bellamy had gone to the store - he invited her, but she declined - and their mom was at work. Clarke was home alone. She enjoyed those times because she didn't have to talk to anyone, and she especially didn't have to deal with Bellamy's mom glaring at her. She knew exactly what she was thinking. Their mom blamed her for getting pregnant, and possibly ruining Bellamy's life. To their mom, she was the furthest thing from a _nice girl_. If only she knew.

If only she knew that Bellamy was lying; he was telling a noble lie for her sake. If only she knew that the whole situation was her daughter's exes fault. The boy who Aurora always doted on when the three of them hung out, because he was such a _good_ boy. If only she knew what he'd done to her. But she didn't know, because she didn't ask. She assumed; she acted like she knew. Even if they'd been close, Clarke most likely wouldn't have said anything. Bellamy had already uttered the irreversible statement to too many people. She couldn't tell the truth now.

Tiptoeing down the hall, she paused before the doorway, heart racing. She hadn't been in Octavia's room since that day. The thought itself made her sick. But for some reason, today felt different. "I can handle this," she muttered, palms sweating. Inhaling deeply, she placed one foot in front of the other in the silent house and entered Octavia's room. Everything was the same: the paint, the bed, the carpet with the telltale purple kool-aid stain, the desk, the half-open closet. She knew exactly where everything was. Eyes locked on the bed, her pupils honed in on the sheets and her heart rate increased. She could see it. She could feel it all over again.

Backing up, she bumped into the dresser. It was like being inside her own mind. On the bed, there they were. He was on top of her, hand over her mouth, and she was fighting with everything she had. But it wasn't enough. No one could hear her. No one was coming. No one would save her. And he wouldn't let go. "No," she said quickly, putting a hand over her mouth. She instantly felt how wet her face was. "No, no, no, no." She'd said no so many times that day. And she didn't understand why he wouldn't get off her. They were supposed to be friends.

Letting go of the dresser, she escaped. She couldn't handle it; she couldn't handle anything. All she wanted was to run far, far away. But the best she could do was Bellamy's room.

* * *

Whistling, Bellamy entered his room to find Clarke lying on his bed, breathing strangely. "What's the matter?" he said instantly.

She didn't answer. She was crying heavily.

"Clarke," he sat down next to her and instinctively put an arm around her.

"Don't touch me!" she shouted.

Standing up, he took a few steps back. He'd forgotten. How was he supposed to help her if he couldn't touch her? She wasn't saying anything either.

"What happened?" he inquired.

Grinding his teeth together, he did a mental rundown of his trek through the house. No one else was home. Had Finn come over, somehow knowing she was here alone? _He better not have_ , he thought. He better not have come and done something else to her. If he had, Bellamy was going to literally kill him. He didn't care about the loss and subsequent jail time. He would murder him if he'd hurt Clarke a second time. She still wasn't answering him.

"Alright," he muttered.

When night fell, he went into his room, grabbed his blanket off the floor and trudged back out to the living room. She needed to be alone to deal with whatever had happened. On his back, he stared at the ceiling in the quiet living room.

His mom had gone to her room an hour before. Thankfully, she'd stopped discussing Clarke with him. He knew she still talked about her; that was the kind of person she was. So long as she wasn't doing it around him.

He didn't feel like sleeping. He'd read for some of his classes and worked on a paper for his political science class. What he really wanted was a hangover, a nice, respectable hangover. The problem with that desire was that he couldn't come home drunk. And he couldn't spend the night at someone's house without having Clarke there with him. There was no way in hell he was leaving her alone with his mom to make matters worse, and Octavia was out for the night. He hadn't gone so long without drinking since high school.

He lifted his head up at the sound of movement. Someone was coming down the hallway. Clarke walked in and sat down in front of the couch, back pressed against the soft material.

"Hey," he greeted her in an offhand manner. He desperately wanted to know what had made her freak out so badly earlier, but he didn't want to be annoying. She had a tendency to get mad when he asked her a lot of questions.

"Hey," she mumbled, tucking hair behind her ear.

"I'm almost done with my paper," he decided to talk about school instead.

"Oh yeah?" she sounded impressed. In the beginning, when he'd first started doing work and going to class, she'd been just as skeptical as everyone else. Now it was normal. He felt he'd gained some respect, which was nice.

"Yeah," he nodded at nothing. "Six pages down, four to go."

"That's almost done?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he replied. "It's the longest paper I've ever written. You should be proud that I'm even doing it." As best she could, Clarke dragged her knees up to her chest. She was wearing sweat pants and a short-sleeved, white t-shirt. They fell into silence again. Telepathically, he told her to tell him why she'd been hyperventilating earlier. _Tell me_ , he thought harder. Still, she was silent. "So when I was younger, we went to the zoo."

"What?" she looked up at him.

"I'm telling you a story," he held up his hand and then continued. "I was, like, seven years old, and my parents decided that all four of us were gonna go to the zoo. So we went and we saw all these animals, all the ones I'd seen in books and on TV and stuff. There were monkeys and zebras and these weird birds, everything. I really wanted to see the tigers, 'cause they were my favorite animals. I asked my dad every five minutes if we were gonna see them. Now that I think about, the only reason we went and saw them was because I was pissing him off. Like, seriously, I kept asking. I wanted to see them so badly."

Clarke angled herself to get a better view of his face. She looked mildly amused, a good sign to him. "So we go over there, and I push my way to the front, you know. None of those other kids wanted to see them as badly as I did. So I'm up there, face pressed to the bars, and I saw them. And I just stare at them because they looked so cool. So cool, Clarke. You probably don't understand how much I loved tigers. I had stuffed animals and pajamas, everything. So I'm standing there, right? And then out of nowhere, one of them lunges at the bars, right where I'm standing, freaks the hell out of me. I'm seven years old; I can't fight a tiger. So I start screaming at the top of my lungs and I run back to my dad. The rest of the trip, he had to carry me because I was afraid the tigers were gonna break out of their pen-thing and come get me."

"You don't like tigers anymore?"

"I fuckin' hate tigers," he said definitely, running fingers through his hair. "Even now, I can't see one on TV without backing up a little."

"You've never told me anything about your dad," she commented.

"'Cause I hate him," he answered, yawning. "As far as dads go, he sucks."

"Why?"

"Well, I'll start off with the fact that I haven't seen him since I was about… ten," shrugging, he struggled to keep his tone controlled. He didn't really like talking about his dad, or lack thereof, with other people. Usually, he just pretended that he didn't exist. "And even when he was here, he wasn't the greatest. I don't even really think he likes us."

"That's not true," she said sympathetically.

"I don't care," Bellamy put his best tough-guy voice on. "Supposedly he married some other girl and had kids with her. He obviously likes them more because he doesn't bother to acknowledge us." Stretching, he decided to stop talking.

His dad wasn't worth discussing. He still remembered how it felt when he first learned what the word 'divorce' meant. He still remembered sitting near the front door, waiting for him to come pick them up like he'd promised. He remembered how after the first year, after the sporadic visits, he never showed up anymore; he never called. The three of them didn't mean anything anymore to him. Once Bellamy realized that small fact, he stopped caring, just like his dad had. "You know what we have to do once we get back to school, right?"

"What?" she looked up unexpectedly.

"Come up with names." Just the thought made him smile. And it definitely took his mind off of his asshole of a father.

* * *

 **Okay, so yeah. I'm so sorry the Octavia/Bellamy bit sucked. I had so much trouble with it, I don't know why.**

 **Anyway.**

 **Thank you for everyone who reviewed the and for all the story alerts and follows. You guys are seriously, seriously awesome. I absolutely loved reading every single one of the reviews, it always put a smile on my face. x**


	7. Chapter 6

The rest of Winter Break passed in a light snowfall. Before she knew it, Clarke and Bellamy were back in his truck, headed up the road towards campus. Though they considered themselves early, they realized how late they were when half the house greeted them with shouts of _the married couple's back!_

Down in the kitchen, Clarke leaned against the counter to alleviate some of the pain in her back. All she wanted to do was make a sandwich; it had never been so hard before. Inhaling deeply, she turned back around and picked the jellied knife up off the toasted slice of bread.

"Need help?" Miller walked in with a bottle of water.

"No," she fired back.

"I was just kidding," he held up his hands. "Calm down, Clarke."

"My back hurts," she replied. That was her excuse for everything they let her get away with. Smirking, Miller stared at her for a bit while raking fingers through his buzzed scalp.

"You know Gina?" he questioned out of nowhere.

Licking the knife, she closed the jar of grape jelly and turned around to face him. "Of course I know Gina," she replied evenly. She'd gone the entire break without hearing her name, or even thinking about her. It'd been nice.

"You get why she hates you, right?"

"Because I live in Bellamy's room?" finishing off the knife, she tossed it into the sink and stored the jelly in the fridge.

"You're also pregnant with his kid," he said smartly, smirking at the end of the statement. "She likes him, and every girl here knows not to mess with the guys she likes. You'll always have a one-up on her, and secretly, she can't stand it. You're younger than she is, you're knocked up by the guy she has a thing with, and he brought you here to live with him. She's never going to leave you alone because she's-"waving his hand out in front of him, he motioned for her to complete the sentence.

"So much prettier than I am?" Clarke guessed.

"Crazy is actually the preferred term," he corrected her. Unscrewing the white cap of his water bottle, he finished it off and tossed it into the recycling bin. "Don't let Bellamy hear you say it though; he gets a little annoyed when we call her that."

"She's not that bad," she wrinkled her face with the effort of trying to defend Gina. Miller gave her a strange look, obviously as perplexed at her defense of Gina as she was.

"That's because you haven't lived here that long. She's insane," lowering his voice, he glanced over his shoulder before continuing. "Gina is the psycho your mom warned you about before coming to college. She's the kind of girl who will destroy everything you hold near and dear if you break up with her."

"Then why is Bellamy dating her?"

"He's not," Miller glanced around once more with his gray eyes. "She's the girlfriend from hell. But I mean…she's ridiculous in bed."

Clarke just stared at him.

"Yeah, I've slept with her, too," he shrugged nonchalantly. "But that's not the point. Gina is not the kind of girl you date, not if you value your sanity, or your personal safety. She's the girl you bang, and then sleep with one eye open next to."

"That's… thank you?" Perplexed, she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Can I have a bite of your sandwich?" he pointed to it.

"Sure," she waved.

Grabbing half, he took an enormous man-bite, put it back down, saluted, and left the room. Balancing the napkin carefully, she sat down at the table with considerable effort and started eating.

"There you are," Bellamy popped in and grabbed the seat across from her.

"Yeah?"

"Jasper and his girlfriend are going out to dinner and they invited us. You want to go?" he questioned, raising persuasive eyebrows at the end.

"I don't have any money," she replied, brushing crumbs from her fingertips.

"Clarke," rolling his eyes, he glanced at the clock ticking behind her. "That's the lamest excuse ever. You know I'll pay."

"Uh…" faltering, she struggled to come up with an acceptable excuse. She hated that he spent his money on her. Where were they even going? There weren't that many fancy places on campus, which meant they might try to do something grand off campus. Bellamy had already taken her to one nice place before. Was that the goal? Someplace fancy? Bellamy wasn't being very forthcoming with details.

"Clarke?" he interrupted her thoughts.

"Uh… yeah, I guess," she said shortly.

"Don't sound so excited," he got back up and pushed the chair in. "I'm hitting the gym. You want to come?"

"No," she said easily. She barely wanted to walk around the house. All she planned on doing was lying on his bed, or the couch, and doing some homework.

"Fine," he put his sunglasses on and stretched his arms over his head. "But tonight, you get to dress nice. No sweatpants."

"What are you trying to say?" she made a face.

"Nothing," he said quickly, walking towards the doorway. "I'm just saying that you can wear something else, something pretty. But if you're into sweats, you can do that, too."

"No, I'll look nice," she responded quickly. His hint was shamefully obvious. She wasn't even in sweatpants that often. Granted, she was in them at the moment, but on days that actually mattered, like school days, she wore regular clothes. "I have nice clothes. Don't worry about it."

"You'll look nice either way."

"Bellamy."

"Okay, bye," understanding, he left her to her sandwich and the pains in her lower spine.

When six-thirty came around, Clarke was already in the only skirt that still fit after having spent the last hour painstakingly shaving her legs. Silently, she thanked whoever invented elastic waistbands. Searching through her stash of clothes, she grabbed a red tank top. Layering a black cardigan over it, she stared at herself in the mirror. Unsatisfied with the way her stomach stuck out, she stood at a different angle. She still looked enormous. _I'm so fat_ , she thought. And it was only month five. There were still four months to go. Was it possible to get any bigger? That was a stupid question; she knew she would get bigger. The idea that a skirt with an elastic waistband wouldn't even fit in four months was depressing. Holding back tears, she turned away from the mirror.

"You dressed?" Bellamy called through the door.

"Yeah," she said dejectedly.

The knob turned and he poked his head in just to make sure. Satisfied that it was safe, he walked into the center of the room and dropped his backpack on the floor. Already in jeans and hair wet from a shower, he pulled open one of his drawers to look for a shirt.

Clarke unconsciously took note of his muscles. Silently debating, he grabbed a red and navy blue plaid shirt off the hanger and thrust his arms through the sleeves. "You ready?" he asked while racing up the lines of dark buttons. Stalking quickly over to his dresser, he grabbed a can of body spray, hosed himself down with it, and then reached for his brush.

"I want to do my hair," she said sadly while holding her straightener. Nice hair might improve her spirits.

"Then do it," he stared at her while brushing his own hair. When he noticed she wasn't moving, he stopped. "What?"

Shaking her head, she set it back down on the bed.

"What? Are you tired?" Tossing his brush down, he straightened his collar. She hated admitting it. Her day wasn't anything out of the ordinary. She'd gotten a good night's rest, she'd eaten properly, and she'd done her homework. Despite not doing anything spectacular or particularly taxing, she felt exceptionally heavy. Every minimal action took twice as much force and energy as it had previously. It was sad.

"I got it. I'll do your hair."

"No, you'll burn my scalp off," she shook her head. Then she'd be pregnant _and_ bald.

"No, I won't," he argued and seized control of the straightener. "You want your hair done. I'll do it." Standing opposite him, Clarke gazed skeptically. She highly doubted that Bellamy had any idea how to do anyone's hair besides his own. Styling his hair didn't even take effort. Half the time it was covered with a hat. Raising his eyebrows, he made his most enticing face. "Come on. Trust me. I shared a bathroom with Octavia for years. I've seen her straighten her hair plenty of times."

"I just want to curl it a bit," she said plainly.

"Okay," he shrugged like it was simple. "I can do that."

"Bellamy, no," sighing, she looked around for her purse. "Let's just go."

"Give me some credit," he made a face. "Just let me try. I promise I won't ruin your hair." Widening his eyes, he gave the impression that he was about to start crying if she didn't agree. "Come on, I used to do O's for school when mom worked graveyard shifts."

"That explains the bowl cut in third grade," rolling her eyes, she followed him to the bathroom.

Laughing a little, Bellamy plugged it into one of the middle outlets between two sinks. Turning it on, he turned around to face her. "Alright," biting his lip, he studied her face and occasionally made 'mm-hm' sounds. Clarke attempted to read his thoughts, but found it impossible. "Okay, so… how do I do this?"

"You just take a section of hair"-she demonstrated-"and run the straightener down. As you're going down, twist it, and then let go once you're at the end."

"Twist your hair or the straightener?"

"The straightener."

"Alright," he repeated. "That doesn't sound hard at all."

"It should be ready," she pointed to it. "It heats up really fast."

"Okay," he said excitedly. Standing beside her, he raised his hands, and then dropped them slightly. Bringing them back up again, he stopped before actually touching her head. "Can I touch your hair?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"You have that thing about people not touching you," he explained. "I didn't know…" Hesitantly, he rest a hand on her hair and then gathered an enormous section.

"Too big," she said instantly.

"Now?" he dropped some of the hair.

"A little more," she answered.

Sighing, he lost a little enthusiasm and gathered more hair. "Now?"

"Yeah."

Picking up the flat iron, he clamped it onto the middle of her hair. "Bellamy!"

"What?" he jumped.

"You have to start at the top," she pointed. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," he said simply.

"My hair's gonna look so bad," she panicked aloud. She'd known it was a terrible idea from the get-go.

"No, no," he silenced her while restarting. "All the other girls are gonna look at you and be like 'goddamn, who did her hair?'. They'll be impressed." He started twisting a little late, so the curl was lackluster and barely there. Pressing his lips together, he worked to suppress a laugh. "Okay, next section. I got it next section."

The next section, as anticipated, wasn't that much better.

"Next one," he promised.

His third attempt was actually much better than the first two. Afterwards, he got the flat iron stuck in her hair momentarily, an incident that got them both laughing. By the time he proclaimed his masterpiece complete, Clarke had nearly been burned four times and the final product was the antonym of impressive. But it had been fun, more fun than initially expected.

"It's after seven," she motioned for him to hurry up. "They're probably downstairs waiting."

"You're the one who wanted to curl your hair," he thundered down the steps. "I was helping you."

" _You_ insisted on curling my hair," she fired back.

"Yeah," he said over his shoulder at the base of the stairs. She wasn't as fast as him and he knew it. "And I did a good job. Admit it."

"I will never tell such an egregious lie," at the bottom, she leaned against the wall momentarily.

"Ay!" Bellamy shouted into the lounge. "If you're in there, Jasper, let's go. Clarke needs to sit down."

Jasper and his girlfriend, Maya, appeared; Jasper with a smirk on his face and Maya with a smile on hers. Like Bellamy, Jasper had thrown on a nice, button-down shirt and some jeans. Maya had opted for a tight blue dress with shoulder pads. Her thin legs were clad in black stockings with flowers, and she finished off her look with black, ankle boots. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders as if she'd just gotten out of bed; it was perfect chaos. Clarke even liked Maya's black headband. It was thick, thicker than any headband Clarke usually wore, and a huge black flower was jutting out from the side of it. It wasn't Clarke's style, but Maya made it work.

"Hi, Clarke!" Maya greeted her warmly with a huge smile and nearly closed eyes. They'd met each other only once before, and Clarke had liked her from the get-go. She knew instantly that Maya didn't have the capacity to be mean. She was all smiles and happiness. When they were first introduced, Maya looked right at her face, not her stomach. That's how Clarke knew.

"Hi," Clarke smiled back. Maya's purple eyeliner was obvious; she'd brought it out past the curves of her eyes

"You're bigger than the last time I saw you!" Maya exclaimed, hugging her tightly. Releasing her grasp, she held Clarke at arm's length as if they were childhood friends. "And you look so cute and pregnant! I can't wait!"

"Yes you can," Jasper said quickly.

"I just meant that she looks so cute," Maya elbowed him. "Tell her how cute she looks right now."

"You look cute, Clarke," Jasper echoed.

It was also quite clear from their first encounter that Maya was considered 'weird'. Clarke based that off how she dressed and how she talked. Regardless of what she was saying, or what time of day it was, Maya sounded incredibly high. She wasn't high though, just happy, because of pretty much everything.

The first and last time they were together, Maya had gone into a long story about how she'd gone to the store and they'd had her favorite candy on sale.

"And your boobs are huge!" her smile increased ten-fold as she dropped her hands from Clarke's shoulders. "I'm sure Bellamy loves those!"

"Okay, let's leave," Bellamy intervened before Maya could say anything else.

Inside Bellamy's truck, Jasper took the front passenger seat. Maya slid into the backseat with Clarke and immediately started talking about a painting for her art class. Her story lasted the entire fifteen minute drive across campus.

Clarke nodded at all the right parts, or the ones she assumed were the right parts, but didn't say anything. Maya's voice was oddly comforting. No girl had spoken to her so kindly in… she couldn't even remember. She didn't want to interrupt Maya either because she seemed really into her story. Plus, there was nothing going on in her life worth sharing, except the baby. And she didn't want to talk about him.

"So I think I just might paint this one with my feet," Maya concluded before hopping out the back. Holding the door open for Clarke, she twirled in a little circle, and then smiled widely at her.

At the table, they ran their eyes over the menu. Clarke noticed that the restaurant wasn't as nice as the one Bellamy had taken her to back home. It was well-designed, but far less spectacular. She heard a child crying off in the distance. Immediately she frowned, knowing that would be her in just a few months.

"What's wrong?" Bellamy questioned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Nothing," she said quickly, ducking her head back behind her menu.

"Remember, you can't have fish," he answered.

"I know, Bellamy," she said shortly, tucking hair behind her ear. Before returning the inked print, she caught Maya smiling at them.

Clarke silently thanked the universe when their food finally showed up. Her stomach had been rumbling and she felt like she was on the verge of passing out. Even though she hadn't exactly wanted to come, it was much, much nicer than eating in Bellamy's room, or even the kitchen of the frat house.

Picking up her fork, she dug deep into salad with sliced chicken strips on top. Everyone maintained their general silence during the first few minutes after the food's arrival. Clarke listened to forks gliding over porcelain plates, chewing, crunching, and some slurping from Maya's direction.

"So how'd you get pregnant?" Maya wiped her mouth off with her napkin and took a sip from her soda.

"Maya," Jasper glared at her.

"I mean they have to have a story," she defended herself. "Everyone has a how-I-got-pregnant story."

"You don't," he countered.

"Well, duh," she rolled her eyes. "Haven't been pregnant, babe."

"That's not something you ask people," Jasper sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"No, it's okay," Bellamy rushed to Maya's defense to make things less awkward. Clarke looked at him, alarmed. No, it wasn't okay. He couldn't tell them. There was no story; there was an event. A tragic, painful event she never wanted anyone else to know about. "She's actually the first person to ask."

"Of course she is," Jasper muttered, slicing into his steak. Maya's smile brightened tenfold and she set her silverware down in anticipation. Maya was notorious for saying things most people just thought, so her question wasn't that shocking. Its sudden appearance at the table was.

"So," Bellamy cleared his throat and pressed his lips together, visibly thinking. "Well… hm. It's a great story. I just have to think of how I want to start it." Grabbing his drink, he drank deeply while Clarke stared at him, fork frozen in the air. What did he plan on telling them? Setting his glass down, he cleared his throat again.

"There isn't really a story," Clarke interrupted before he could open his mouth. "I think… I mean… its quite obvious how I got pregnant."

"No, there's a story," he waved aside her excuse. Even Jasper showed some interest. Wiping the corners of his mouth off, he tossed his fork down and waited. Planting her hands in her lap, Clarke fought to keep them from sweating pools all over the white tablecloth.

"Okay, so… what is it now? January? Alright, um, obviously this was back before school started, for me. Like, a few weeks before. So Clarke had been hanging around my house a lot 'cause she's known my younger sister since elementary school or something. She was around all the time and it was kinda annoying at first. But then… I don't know. Something happened one day and I just wanted to hang out with her, without Octavia around. So one day, she was leaving and I asked her if she wanted to go to dinner with me."

"Aww!" Maya exclaimed, planting her elbows on the table. "That's so cute!"

"Yeah, I know," Bellamy agreed, proud of himself. "We planned to go the next day, okay? So the next evening comes around and I go to pick her up. I ring the doorbell, talk a little with her parents and stuff - they loved me before… you know, _this_ \- and then Clarke comes downstairs. And it's like… I'm gonna sound like a bitch, but my heart stops. She looked so beautiful." He turned to her. "You remember what you were wearing?"

"Uh…" faltering, she stared dumbly back at him. This story was far longer than any she'd expected. He couldn't just incorporate her in his lie without briefing her beforehand.

"I remember," snapping his fingers, he turned back to Jasper and Maya. "I don't know how she doesn't. She had on this super-tight, black dress. It didn't have sleeves or straps or whatever the hell they're called, and she had her hair all done. If you can picture it, it was back when she didn't have this."

Smirking he pointed at her stomach. Maya laughed a little and smiled.

"Okay, so Clarke looks insanely hot. We go, get in my car, eat at this restaurant she didn't really want to go to, but ended up loving. By the time we're done eating and talking, it's ten at night. I don't want to take her back yet, and she kinda agrees, so we both decide to go to the beach. I'm in my nice clothes, she's still in her dress, should be fun, right?" he continues, smiling at the imaginary memory.

"We get there, and as expected, not too many people are around. It's late and most of the tourists are gone. So we walk for a while, still talking about stuff. I'm great with conversation, in case you were wondering. We come to this one spot and we can see the boardwalk. The moon's hitting the water just right, there are no annoying seagulls, and the waves just sound perfect. She stops and sits down because she's tired of walking. So I sink down into the sand too, right next to her; then she puts her head on my shoulder, and I can smell how good she smells. And it's getting to me. And we were basically all alone. And… I don't know. I knew I didn't have any condoms and I told her, and she seemed like she didn't want to, just because of that. Clarke, always smart. But I convinced her, because I'm good at that, too. I convinced her and… here we are. It's my fault. She looked so nice and I just wanted her so badly."

"Aww!" Maya commented again, crushing her napkin between her hands. "That's so romantic and cute and-oh my gosh!"

"Congratulations, Clarke," Jasper said simply. "You got pregnant by the world's biggest idiot."

"Shut up!" Bellamy glared at him, but there was no heat behind the gaze. Jasper shook his head and returned to his dinner. Clarke just stared at him. Where had such an elaborate story come from? Especially in such a short amount of time. Their eyes locked; smiling at her, he raised his almost empty glass in her direction.

He should just quit school and move to LA.

He could act.

* * *

Returning to the house, she and Bellamy headed up to his room. It was late and they both knew she was tired, so he wasn't going to force her to spend any more time with his friends. Unbuttoning his shirt, he tossed it over the back of his chair and stretched for a bit. Flexing his arms, he turned around to catch her staring at him. She wasn't scoping him out though, not like most girls did when he stripped down.

"What?"

"Why'd you tell that story at dinner tonight?"

"What story?"

"The pregnant story," she clarified.

"Oh," he remembered. Shrugging, he didn't even bother coming up with an excuse. Digging through his drawer, he snatched out a pair of pajama pants. "And it's a good story. We can tell it to the kid once he's older."

Awkwardly holding his pants, he watched her watch him. She'd had very little to say at the table. "Well I'm gonna go put these on," he pointed towards the door.

Usually he was fine with changing in front of her, but this time was different. He couldn't read her silent stares. Briefly glancing at the floor, he wondered if she was mad at him for telling the story. He liked it, and so did Jasper. Maya had practically fallen in love with it. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out that she wanted Jasper to do the same thing for her. _Maybe she just needs some space_ , he considered. He had kind of forced her to go. But he'd caught her smiling at some points throughout dinner. She couldn't have hated it that much.

When he was halfway out the door, her voice stopped him.

"Could you help me with this cardigan, please?"

Twisting the strings around his finger, he considered pretending like he hadn't heard her. Instead, he turned around, tossed the pants onto his desk and walked over to her. She turned around and he pulled it down her shoulders like a suave guy he'd seen in a black and white movie.

The tips of his fingers accidentally grazed her arms on the way down. Swallowing, he took a step back and handed her the cardigan. Swiping fingers through his hair, he cleared his throat nervously and fired a small smile in her direction. Clarke just stood there, holding the cardigan in her arms. With it off, he couldn't help but notice the boobs Maya had been kind enough to mention earlier in the evening.

He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he resisted. It was taking everything he had, but he was resisting. Because he wanted to do more than that. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to have her hands in his hair and his face between her thighs. But he couldn't do that. Clarke was different than any girl he'd ever been with, and he was supposed to be her support system. He wasn't supposed to want to do that with her. He'd been telling himself that the entire time. But she was so beautiful and intelligent and so… everything. She was everything, and he liked her because of that.

As if reading his mind, she kissed him. Sinking into the softness of her mouth, he kissed her back momentarily. Wrapping his arms around her, he attempted to pull her closer and then remembered why he couldn't.

"Clarke." Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and glanced at the window and then the floor, everywhere but her face. "I can't…"

Wrapping her arms around herself, Clarke just stood there, nodding uncomfortably in agreement. "Sorry," she apologized.

"It's not… it's not like I don't want too," he said quickly, not wanting to offend her. "I do. But…you're pregnant…"

"Yeah," she concurred.

"And it's just… it'd be weird," he continued. "I've never been with a pregnant girl."

"Yeah," she repeated, turning around to face the bed. Bellamy ran his hands down the front of his jeans, thinking if he should say anything else. He didn't want her to feel bad.

"I like you, Clarke, but..."

"Pregnant," she finished for him. She said it so solemnly.

Closing his mouth, he decided to stop talking in order to sound like less of an asshole. She wasn't saying it openly, but he was certain that he'd hurt her feelings. He knew it wasn't her fault; they both knew that. Opening and closing his fists, he decided it was best to just leave her alone. She probably just wanted to go to sleep anyway.

"I'll just… just tell me when you're done changing," without looking at her, he strode quickly from the room and out a little ways into the hall. The door didn't close immediately behind him. _Maybe she's not that mad at me_ , he mused. That was perfect. He didn't want her mad at him for not doing something they both knew shouldn't happen. Biting his nail, he quieted his mind. No one else was up, which was surprising. "She's seventeen." Listing the reasons aloud helped his case. "She's seventeen and pregnant and she's still in high school."

But Clarke was, well, Clarke.

Still thinking, he ran his hands over his exposed chest. Some of her hair had brushed against his bare skin and it felt like he'd been electrocuted. "No," he said quietly, pacing. He'd touched her bare back too. Shaking his head, he took a few steps towards the stairs. "No, no, no. I just need to go downstairs and watch TV."

Bellamy knew full well that he couldn't have sex with her. That was out of the question. He wasn't having sex with a pregnant girl, a pregnant teenager at that. Something about it just seemed horribly, horribly wrong. He wasn't going to take advantage of her.

He put one foot on the top step and stared down. "Go downstairs, Bellamy," he instructed himself. Standing there, he could tell that his door was still open. Heart pounding, he turned his last chance over in his mind. His pajama pants were still in his room; that was an acceptable excuse to turn around and go back. Regressing, he stalked back down the hall and paused outside his doorway. He didn't want to bust in if she was actually naked.

"Clarke?"

"Yeah?" she answered in a small voice.

"You dressed?"

There was a moment's hesitation. And in that moment, Bellamy wavered, wondering if it was better if they were apart for a little while longer. She wanted to have sex with him. That was why she requested 'help' with her cardigan. He couldn't have slept with her though. He wanted to so much it was difficult to think of anything else at times, but he just couldn't.

"Yeah," she responded.

"Okay," re-entering their room, he slowly shut the door and flipped off the lights. "There is this thing I've been told I'm good at…"

* * *

Resting his back against the side of the sofa, Bellamy stared off into space while absently twirling one of his pens. His next class was in a little over an hour, and he'd planned on coming home and reading a little beforehand. After bringing his books and backpack downstairs, and sitting on the floor, random thoughts took over.

"You don't look like you're doing anything," Miller commented, leaning against the wall.

"I'm reading," snapping out of it, Bellamy readjusted his book on his lap and then glanced in Miller's direction.

"Yeah, okay," he answered, flopping down onto the couch. Grabbing the remote, he turned on the television and started flipping through channels. Rubbing his eyes, Bellamy dragged his knees to his chest and rested his forehead against them.

"Can I ask you something? Brother to brother?"

"What?" Bellamy mumbled.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Just ask me," Bellamy waved for Miller to keep talking. He didn't feel like going to class, but he wanted to save skipping for a better occasion.

"What made you go from a complete lazy-ass to the Bellamy I see before me?" Miller questioned, plunging his hand into a bag of chips that mysteriously appeared.

"Clarke," he answered after contemplating. "And the baby." He lifted his head up. "She's way too good for me, so I decided to start actually going to class. And plus… he's not here yet. But eventually he'll go to school. I want to be able to help him with his homework and teach him stuff and answer questions, if he has any."

Miller said nothing.

"Can I tell you something else? Brother to brother?" Bellamy inquired.

"Do it," Miller said casually, crunching on chips.

"It's not even… I actually do work and go to class and shit because I need to graduate. I need to get a job and I need to make money, a lot of it. I'm gonna save up money and I'm gonna get a place for us, somewhere far from here."

"What's the situation right now?" Miller turned the volume down some to hear better.

"It's not the worst, but it could definitely be better," Bellamy answered, inhaling deeply. "Neither of us are allowed on her parent's property and I'm guessing my mom's coming around. Even if she's not, I don't really care. Clarke is pregnant, and she's just gonna have to accept that one way or the other."

"Where are you guys gonna live?"

"Fuck," running a hand over his face, Bellamy sighed. He'd spent nights thinking about it. They only had one option when school was out. Because Clarke was removed from her family, they had one less option. Being in college made things simpler because they lived in the frat house.

Technically, she lived there illegally, but that was beside the point. Once school ended for him, they'd be back in his mom's house. He definitely didn't want that, but his bank account wasn't full enough to get them their own residence yet. "My mom's house. Clarke graduates a month after school ends for me, and she's already five months now, so… he might be here in May, the month we leave here. I really don't want to live there, because she's talked so much shit about Clarke, but we don't have anything else."

"You graduate in two years," Miller pointed out.

"I don't care," Bellamy said stalwartly. "I'm gonna do whatever it takes to save up enough money. I'm gonna get a job this summer, save up stuff from that, and I might work for the next two years, too. By the time I graduate, I want to have enough to get us a decent apartment. Then once I get a better job, we'll have our own house, somewhere away from here."

"Why not here?"

"Because Clarke deserves better than the shit she's gotten here," he said harshly.

Miller wrinkled his forehead at Bellamy's conviction.

"She really does, man. You don't know. Like I've fucked it up, so now I'm gonna fix it." The wrinkles disappeared. "Just don't tell her though. She'd think it was stupid." Bellamy couldn't even believe he'd revealed his formerly secret plan.

Miller stared at him with a stupid smirk on his face, like he was judging him.

"What?" Bellamy stared back at him, expecting a snide comment or a joke.

"Nothing," Miller shrugged casually and turned back towards the glowing TV. "You're responsible, and I'm proud. It's really good to hear that you're finally acting like an adult."

"Well… baby," Bellamy could give no other reason than that.

"And it's a boy, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "We're having a boy."

Miller turned off the TV and threw the remote aside. "I'm headed to class, man. Great talk."

"Yeah, I'll be heading out soon, too."

Sighing like a girl, Miller pretended to dab tears from the corners of his eyes. "You're nineteen and you've finally grown up. I thought I'd never see the day."

"Fuck off," Bellamy made a face.

"I'm so proud of you!" sniffling, Miller disappeared from the room.

Later that day, Bellamy sat on the bed, legs hanging off the edge. Clarke relaxed horizontally, legs across his lap as they both thumbed through books crammed with baby names. He'd gone through so many lines of names, from all over the world that his eyes were starting to hurt. Widening them, he struggled to stay focused.

"Do we have to choose today?" he questioned.

"No," she turned a page.

"Okay, good," he let his eyes droop a little. That took off some of the pressure. "What about Ethan?"

"Ew," she wrinkled her nose. "I don't like that."

"Why?"

"It just sounds… I don't know," she concluded. "I don't want him named Ethan."

Defeated, Bellamy turned another page and scoured.

"What about John?" She inquired.

"Absolutely not," he lowered his book slightly.

"Why?"

"That's so plain and boring and… fucking Murphy will think we named it after him," scoffing, he went back to reading. "No. No, no, no, no, Clarke. That's the worst one yet."

"I think the worst one yet came from you," she argued before returning to her book.

"Evan?" he offered.

"No," she declined. "Keagan?"

"Gross," he answered, wrinkling his nose some.

"Kevin?" she tried another.

"Boring," he fake-yawned. Flipping to the back, he scanned some of the lower letters. "Sam?"

"No," she said immediately.

Exhausted, he rest his head against the wall. They'd been in his room for an hour shooting names back and forth. Neither of them had come remotely close to agreement. Any name he liked disgusted her and vice-versa.

"I want him to have a name that sound like he can be anything," she spoke up. "He needs to have a versatile name. One that sounds like he can be a painter or a teacher or a CEO. Like Greg."

"Okay, that name sucks," he used the same reasoning he had earlier. "And I don't care about any of that. He needs a name that let's everyone knows he's awesome and one that gets him all the girls."

"Or boys."

"What?"

"Or boys," she repeated.

"He's not gay, Clarke," he answered after he understood what she was saying. "You're not gay." He said that to her stomach. Lifting up a bit with her elbows, she looked at him intently. He knew that look. "But if you are, I'll support you."

She laid back down, content with that answer.

"But he's not gay," Bellamy mumbled to himself and thumbed through the never-ending list of names.

* * *

 **As I say every chapter, thank you for everyone who reviewed the and for all the story follows and whatnot. You guys are seriously, seriously awesome. I absolutely loved reading every single one of the reviews, it always put a smile on my face. x**


	8. Chapter 7

"I wanna go for a walk," Clarke said.

"I really need to finish this," Bellamy replied, rubbing his hand over his exposed head. The professor for his macroeconomics class had decided to break their backs with homework and reading. He wanted to be doing anything else, but, with a sigh, he decided that doing his schoolwork was more important. Biting his lip, he ran his finger down a page and highlighted a few sentences.

"I can go by myself, you know," she answered. Rubbing her stomach, she sat up straighter in her chair. All she really wanted to do was lie down, but she figured getting a bit of exercise was more beneficial in the long run. Plus, she knew that if she lay down, there was no way she was getting back up. All of her books were upstairs and inside her backpack.

"Clarke," he said shortly, turning a page.

"Just around Greek Row," she answered.

Swallowing, he glanced over in her direction. "Fine," he muttered. Scooting his chair back, he grabbed his keys. "Hold on. I have to grab our coats."

"It's not that cold out, and you don't have to go with me. Stay and study," she argued.

Holding up a hand, he stalked past her and dashed up the stairs.

Locking up behind the pair, he descended the stairs, and then waited the few extra seconds it took her. Formerly brown leaves curled with glassy ice on either side of sidewalks and streets. All of the trees, stripped of their leafy glory, shivered in the light wind and the chill. Hoping Bellamy didn't notice, she hugged the coat tighter around her midsection.

"I came up with a name," Bellamy volunteered as they reached the end of the street.

"What?" Clarke inquired. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath, prepared to hate it. They'd practically given up after their one afternoon of trying. Neither could come to a consensus, so that was that. Clarke's biggest fear was going into the delivery room with nothing and then picking something stupid. A day or so afterward, she decided that she would go back through all the books herself and pick one without Bellamy's help.

"Megatron," he said, obviously proud of himself.

"No," she deadpanned.

"Alright. I'm kidding. Tristan."

Mulling the name over in her head, Clarke continued walking. A small smile slowly came to her face. She actually liked that one. She could see it. The name gave her baby reality, an identity. She could see herself pushing Tristan around in a stroller; she could teach Tristan how to walk. There was a lot she could do with that name, and he could be anything with it, too. It was versatile, just like she wanted. Tristan could play football or paint pictures or write songs or direct movies. His possibilities were endless.

"I like it," she nodded, agreeing.

"What?" shocked, Bellamy looked over.

"I like it," she repeated, smiling in his direction. "You win. That's his name."

"YES!" shouting, Bellamy pumped his fist in the air and danced awkwardly in a circle. "YES! See?! That name is so bad-ass; he's gonna be awesome." They fell into contented silence. "Hey, there's this other thing I've been meaning to talk to you about."

"What?"

"I know it's kind of a big deal, but…" hesitating, he inhaled deeply and scuffed the bottom of his shoe on the pavement.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Never mind."

"No, you brought it up," she pushed. "What?" It was obviously important, and he just said he'd been meaning to ask her. It'd clearly been on his mind for a while.

Biting his top lip, he released it and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "You're giving him my last name, right?"

Taken aback, Clarke stopped in her tracks in order to process his statement.

His last name? He wanted her to give _her_ baby _his_ last name? Keeping calm, she considered it briefly, and then like a sudden flash of light, it disappeared. Clarke couldn't get that mad at him; he had good reason to want it. Hell, she lived in his room. He spent money on her.

But they weren't together in any sense of the word. She wasn't his girlfriend or fiancée or wife or anything. They were friends. And soon he'd get sick of the whole thing. Right now, she was just pregnant. He didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night to quiet a screaming baby. He didn't have to feed, change, bathe, watch. Bellamy didn't have to do anything yet.

And a huge problem, the main problem, made her stomach twist in knots. She had anticipated giving Tristian her name, even though the Griffin's had shunned and disowned her, until she wondered if it was even her name anymore.

What Bellamy was asking… It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, if he really were the father.

She sure as hell wasn't giving her son the Collins name. Tristan didn't need that name. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't her fault. For a split second, she felt his hand over her mouth again. Blinking, she tore herself from the red-rimmed memory and stared at Bellamy.

"No," she shook her head furiously. "No, Bellamy."

"Why not?" he questioned.

"You're… you don't have to do that. You've already told your friends and your family. You don't need to tie yourself down legally to me and…"

"Tristan," he said confidently. "I'm not tying myself down. You're not forcing me to do anything, Clarke. I want to."

"No," she repeated.

"Why?" he echoed. "I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're thinking right now. I swear on my life I'm never leaving you or the kid."

"It's not a good idea," glaring at the sidewalk, she resumed a slow pace, gazing at the numerous trees lining them.

"You're my girl," he argued. "Of course it's a good idea."

"What does that even mean?" stopping again, she stared into his face. He said it so often without ever really explaining himself.

"I don't know," shrugging, he backed up, slightly put off by her suddenly confrontational attitude. "I don't… you're my girl, Clarke. Does it have to mean anything?"

She didn't say anything.

"I don't understand why you're so angry right now," he commented.

"I'm not angry," she fired back.

"You sound angry," he muttered.

"I'm not," she answered through clenched teeth. She silently wondered why he wouldn't just let the issue drop.

"I'm helping you," he carried on. "I thought we were doing this together."

"We are, Bellamy," she agreed with his reason. "But he doesn't… what's wrong with my last name?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "But kids generally have the guy's last name. That's how it works."

Licking her bottom lip, she stared at him wordlessly. Yeah, Tristan could have his last name, if he was actually Bellamy's. But he wasn't. Bellamy was in no way responsible for his appearance.

"Can we just keep walking?"

Ignoring his remark, Clarke gazed down the street, examining the various cars parked up and down the sidewalks. Sometimes she just wanted to drive, far, far away. But she couldn't do that, because she no longer had her car. And running wouldn't erase anything that had happened.

"Trouble in paradise?" Smirking, Gina appeared followed by two of her friends, two girls different than the original two Clarke had seen. She assumed they were just as childish and bitchy.

"Gina, not now," Bellamy said with exasperation.

"Aww, what's the matter?" Gina answered patronizingly. "Parenthood getting to you?"

"No, shut up," he said harshly, rolling his eyes. Clamping her mouth shut, Clarke ground her teeth and thought about just getting back to the frat house. She should've just listened when Bellamy told her the first time. They wouldn't be arguing, or crossing Gina's path, had she listened. Removing her hands from the fur-lined pockets of her leather jacket, Gina flexed her fingers, like she wanted to fight. Her smile widened as her eyes landed on Clarke.

"You look nice and fat," she said slowly. "The boys must love you."

"Gina," Bellamy snapped. "She's in fucking high school. Calm down."

"I'm calm," Gina replied easily, smiling evenly in his direction. "I'm fine. I was just making an observation, one I'm sure you've noticed too. She's fat. What else do you want me to say?"

"Leave her alone."

"Since when has she been your girlfriend?" Gina inquired.

"She's not," Bellamy said quickly, biting his nail. "She's my friend."

 _I thought I was 'your girl'_ , she thought to herself. How quickly that had gone out the window.

"I have guy friends," Gina answered slowly. "None of them have gotten me pregnant though."

"It's not her fault," Bellamy answered coolly, shrugging like it was nothing. "I'm very persuasive."

"No you're not," Gina fired back, flipping hair over her shoulder. "She's just stupid, which is why you should've never left our campus. You're a good looking guy, Bellamy, but I would never have let you get me pregnant." She tapped a finger to her head. "Smarter than that."

"You done?" he arched an eyebrow.

"You're life is going nowhere," Gina said directly to her. "It's done. I hope you're proud of yourself, slut." Clarke was so used to hearing that from her that she didn't even flinch. Exhaling, Gina walked slowly over to Bellamy. Pausing, she leaned right into his chest and whispered something in his ear.

Whipping her head around, she grinned snarkily once more in Clarke's direction and then continued her trek down the sidewalk, followed by her minions. Bellamy stood there momentarily, staring right through her. Clarke wanted to ask him what she'd said, but a huge part of her knew it was far from positive, especially if her name had been involved.

"It's cold," she said instead.

Snapping out of his trance, Bellamy nodded stiffly in agreement. Falling into step beside one another, they headed back to the house.

* * *

"It's February," Bellamy commented one morning while driving her to school.

"It is."

"Three more months," Bellamy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "So close."

"It's not that close," she answered.

"Definitely close," he said back, turning the radio up slightly. "Are you scared?"

Turning to stare through the glass at the cars flying by, she shrugged. She wasn't anything. Labor had always sounded painful. Plus, she hated needles. She didn't want to be lying there in the worst pain of her life while simultaneously hooked up to machines. That was her worst nightmare.

And who was going to be in there with her? She didn't want to be alone with a doctor, but at the moment, she couldn't tell who she wanted in the delivery room with her. Maybe it'd be better to do it alone, she considered. Her parents definitely weren't going to be there. Bellamy's mom hated her.

The only other option was Bellamy.

"You have to be, even if it's only a little bit," he concluded after she didn't express herself verbally. Speeding up, he got in front of another car. "We need to get a car seat." Absently, he checked the vacant backseat in his rearview mirror. "How have the kids at school been?"

"Fine," she said lamely.

"What's the matter?" glancing over briefly, he returned his eyes to the road.

"Nothing," she answered.

"You sound depressed," he noted.

"Not depressed," she said confidently.

"So no one's talking shit anymore?"

"I guess not," she shrugged. People still stared, but not as much. She was old news. There were far more interesting and scandalous stories appearing every single day. Her pregnancy had been the hot topic for months; now her fifteen minutes were over.

"You can tell me."

"No one's saying anything," she repeated strongly. "At least not to my face."

"Can you still fit into those desks?"

"I sit sideways, or at a table."

"I can't imagine being pregnant," Bellamy bobbed his head back and forth to the song playing. "Getting all big and stuff. And then the whole delivery thing. That'd freak me out. I'd do a lot of things instead of having a kid. A lot. You're a tough one, Clarke."

"Yeah," she agreed in a low voice.

"Hey, uh… has Finn tried to… anything? Like talk to you or anything?" he asked in seemingly casual manner.

"No."

"Good," he sounded pleased. "One more thing."

"What?"

Merging, he exited the interstate and turned onto one of the main streets leading to her school.

"Valentine's Day is coming up," he popped the p-sound. "Next week."

"It is," she dug beneath one of her nails.

"So… I guess…" clearing his throat, he turned into the school's parking lot and pulled into his usual space. "Did you want to do anything?"

"Did _you_ want to do anything?" she countered. She repeated the question simply because she couldn't come up with an answer. Valentine's Day had never been on her list of holidays because she'd never been with anyone. She hadn't even received a card since elementary school, when it was a classroom affair. Annually, she spent the day ignoring the stuffed animals, the chocolates, and the general togetherness. She'd always done a great job of pretending like it didn't bother her. Secretly though, she'd always wanted someone amazing to surprise her with something, anything.

"Uh… I don't know," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Only if you wanted to do something."

"Valentine's is a holiday created by a card company," she said quickly.

"Yeah, but… I mean… " unable to continue, he cut off the rest of his sentence, whatever it was. "We could hang out or whatever. I don't know. You're a girl; I'm sure your ideas are better."

"You really don't have to do anything," she unbuckled her seatbelt.

"There's no way you don't want something," he pressed the matter. "All girls do, even if they say they don't."

Clarke looked at him.

"What?" he shrugged. "I've… you know my history."

"We're not together," she didn't want to offend him by pointing out the obvious.

"You're… you know the deal," Bellamy commented. "And this is your last Valentine's Day as a single girl, if you catch my meaning."

"Got it."

Both of them just sat there.

"I guess if you don't want anything…"

"No one's ever given me anything," she replied.

"What?" he sounded confused. "Oh, yeah. You've never had a boyfriend." Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he exhaled and looked around as the buses pulled up in front of the building. "Well…"

"You don't have to do anything," she said finally.

"You sure?"

"Absolutely," she opened the door. A chill entered their warm haven.

"Okay," he didn't sound like he believed her. Studying her face, he waited for some sort of reaction, or a change in answer. Swallowing anything else that she wanted to say, she slid from the car and grimaced slightly as her feet met the cold tar. "Have a good day, Clarke."

"Bye, Bell."

* * *

In the store, Bellamy roamed the aisles adorned with pink, red, and white, searching for something Clarke would like. Wrinkling his nose, he passed by heart-shaped stuffed animals, giant chocolate kisses, and cards bearing words that made him want to roll his eyes.

Valentine's Day shopping hadn't been part of his to-do list since high school. Walking back they way he'd come, he replayed his conversation with Clarke from a week earlier, how she'd never gotten a Valentine's Day gift.

He'd never understood that. How were the guys at her school not trying to get with her?

"Shopping for Clarke?" Miller elbowed him in the back. "Your girlfriiiiiiiend?" He sounded like a five year old.

"Fuck off," Bellamy elbowed him back and scanned the card rack, hoping there was one she would appreciate. He would hate to put effort into buying a gift that she ended up laughing at. That would suck more than not getting anything and suffering a day of glares and resentment. Some days, he still held a sneaking suspicion that Clarke thought he was an idiot.

The entire house was out looking for Valentine's Day related paraphernalia. The Greek Hearts Ball was on Saturday. It was one of the biggest mixers of the year because all the houses, fraternities and sororities, came together under one roof to drink and grind on each other. Guys were supposed to ask girls by presenting them with something representing Valentine's Day.

"You going to the Ball?" Murphy questioned.

"No," Bellamy shook his head. "I have this huge test coming up on Monday. And Gina's probably going to be there."

"He's buying stuff for Clarke, his girlfriend," Miller repeated, emphasizing the last part.

"Knock it off!" Bellamy growled, whirling around to hit him. Laughing, Miller ducked and darted to the other side of the aisle.

"We all know you like her," Jasper commented, slamming a card shut that started belting out a song.

"I don't… I'm helping her out," he defended himself while reaching for another card. He didn't get past the cover. Scoffing, he crammed it back onto the rack and searched for another.

"Come on," Jasper folded his arms and stared at him. "Clarke is hot. Don't tell Maya I said that."

"Yeah, she is," Miller agreed. "And we're more controlled men than you are, Blake."

" _And_ we're your brothers," Murphy asserted. "We know you better than you know yourself."

"You want her, bro," Jasper commented, seizing a crimson envelope. "You like her. Man up and admit it."

"We can't be together," Bellamy lied. Confused, he turned towards actual gifts, stuffed animals and such. Did he want to be with her? Weren't they technically together, before the eyes of everyone else? She wasn't his girlfriend. They were… were they still just friends? He was at the store buying her Valentine's Day presents. He spent nights thinking about how to get stuff for Tristan. In a few months, they were going to be raising a kid together. They were together without the label.

"What are you talking about?" someone questioned.

"Yeah," Murphy chimed in. "You got her pregnant. You and her are together forever, whether you want to be or not."

"Bellamy hasn't had a girlfriend in… ever," Jasper commented.

"Yeah I have!" Bellamy argued. No one was listening.

"That's because he's always been against it, remember?" Miller commented, leaning against the rack. "He likes hooking up with girls and not actually dating them."

"That's not true!" Bellamy countered.

"You've said that," Jasper said plainly, looking directly at him.

"Have I?" He couldn't remember saying anything like that, but it did sound familiar.

"Yeah," Jasper nodded.

"He likes sleeping around too much," Miller stated.

"As exemplified by the pregnant girl living in his room," Monty agreed.

"She won't have sex with you, will she?" Murphy asked, doing his best to hide a smirk. "Is that why you won't actually call her your girlfriend?"

"What? No… it's not - it has nothing to do with that," Bellamy pieced together, caught off-guard. That wasn't the case; they'd actually be surprised if they knew the case. _He_ wouldn't have sex with _her_. If he said it aloud though, they wouldn't believe him.

"He's probably too afraid to put his dick in anything other than his hand now that he sees it actually works," Miller answered, dodging a quick fist from Bellamy.

"When was the last time you actually had sex?" Jasper questioned, eyeing him.

Bellamy opened his mouth to reply and then shut it. Truth was, he couldn't remember. It was definitely before he started getting serious about school, so it'd been months. He'd never gone that long without a girl to hook up with, not counting the first sixteen years of his life.

"Why the hell do you think Gina's so pissed every time we see her?" Miller questioned.

"You haven't had sex with her either?"

"No," Bellamy said quickly. "I'm a responsible father figure now!"

"Why not?" Miller asked. "If Clarke's not your girlfriend, she wouldn't care, right?"

"I thought you liked Clarke," Bellamy replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Their interrogation was all levels of ridiculous and it definitely wasn't something he wanted to talk about in the middle of the store. Other people from their school could be on the other aisle, listening to everything.

"I do," Miller said jovially. "I love her. She's a great girl, possibly the best thing that's ever happened to you. But, dude, Gina…"

"-is even more crazy now that she doesn't have Bellamy all to herself," Jasper snorted.

"She's not crazy," Bellamy said defensively.

"Gina is insane," Monty lowered his voice. "We all know that."

"She's not crazy!" Bellamy hissed. He hated when they said that. He'd never wanted to be the guy with the psycho girl hanging around, and so far he'd been successful. They greatly exaggerated Gina's behavior. She definitely wasn't the most normal girl he'd ever been with, but she was far from insane.

"Whatever," Miller rolled his eyes and tossed a stuffed gorilla up and down. "How's your dry spell treating you?"

"I'm doing just fine," Bellamy smiled broadly. "I haven't had sex in months and I feel… great."

None of them looked like they believed him, but they stopped talking about it. Miller knew; he shot him a look when the other guys turned away. Miller knew what Bellamy wanted to do for her; he understood how he felt about her. Yeah, she wasn't his girlfriend, but, she was the third most important female in his life, sliding right behind Octavia and his mom. Grinding his teeth, he stared at the tiled floor for a few seconds. Now that they'd gotten him thinking about it, he wanted to hook up with someone. He could easily do so. All he had to do was go to the Ball. There were plenty of girls who'd be willing.

 _No, no_ , he thought. He'd become better than that. He wasn't that same Bellamy who had drunken one night stands. That was the old him. The new him would either be with Clarke or studying for his test. Those were his two entertainment options for the evening. Nothing else.

Saturday arrived.

During days prior, on his way to and from class, he listened to girls go on and on about the different items they'd gotten from guys inviting them to the Ball. Part of him thought it was stupid. Even if he'd planned on going, he wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of trying to find a date. He never really liked going to dances with girls; he preferred leaving with them.

Another part of him, especially during one of his classes, considered asking Clarke. She wouldn't agree though, and he didn't want to have to wrestle with the whole rejection thing. One time after dinner, he almost asked if she wanted to go, but decided against it.

In the afternoon, he walked into his room and presented her with a pink card, a small bunch of red roses in crinkly plastic, and a stuffed octopus. Since it was her favorite animal, he figured she'd appreciate it.

"What's all this?" she smiled slowly.

"Your Valentine's Day gift," he answered just as slowly.

"I said I didn't want anything," she commented while stroking the octopus's head.

"Yeah, but… girls don't actually mean that when they say it," he replied. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall and watched her silently revel in the presents. She was doing her tough-girl thing and although it was mildly annoying, it was still cute. His heart began beating a little faster. Clearing his throat at the realization, he stood up straighter and looked at something else. "What do you want to do today?"

She shrugged.

"Come on, Clarke," motioning for her to think of something, he straddled his desk chair. "Anything you want. I'm down."

She just shrugged again.

Sighing, he rubbed the top of his head. "Hey, have you thought about that thing we talked about a while ago?"

"What thing?" setting the roses aside, she twisted her hair into a messy bun. Strands fell out, framing her face and making her look even prettier. It took Bellamy a moment to bring his focus back to words.

"Giving Tristan my last name," he answered without hesitation. She'd never fully given him a reason why she was so unwilling. Time had gone by; maybe she'd changed her mind.

"I thought we agreed on not doing that."

" _We_ didn't agree," Bellamy replied, reaching for his favorite white hat. "You got mad at me and then Gina came."

"I don't think it's a good idea for him to have your last name," she explained slowly, tucking some of the dark strands behind her ear.

"Why?"

"Bellamy," she said harshly.

"Could you just tell me why?" he asked. "You didn't say anything specific last time. You just kept saying no and calling it a bad idea, kind of like what you're doing now."

"We're not even together," she mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

"So?" he countered, wrinkling his forehead. "We may as well be."

She gave him a look, but he refused to take it back.

"What?" he continued. Waiting for her to enlighten him, he tried to come up with possible reasons. He'd been great. He'd helped her out, taken her to appointments, driven her to school, and made her food in the middle of the night. He'd done more for her than the average nineteen year old dude would. What was the problem? Clarke didn't say anything. "I thought we were good."

"We are good."

"Am I really so bad that you don't want him to have my last name?" grinding his teeth together, he pressed his spine deeply against the edge of the desk until part of his back went numb. "I think I'm better than most guys."

She snorted, "That's debatable."

"Better than that asshole," he said without thinking. She gave him another look, a harder one, but he didn't care.

"It doesn't matter," she shook her head.

"What are you talking about? It does matter. He's our kid; he should have my last name," he argued more defensively.

Shaking her head, Clarke bit her lip and looked towards the window without speaking to him. "Can we just drop this please?"

"No, I want to keep talking about it." He sounded like a three year old.

"Bellamy!" she said sharply.

"No!" he said louder. "I've done a lot of shit for you and him. I've bought you pills and I've taken you to appointments and I've driven you to school and I've stood up for you to my mom. Is that not good enough? All of my effort isn't worth that? I'm only asking for one thing, one thing, Clarke."

She kept her eyes on the window.

"Fine, whatever," standing up, he grabbed his backpack and his books.

"Bellamy," she said his name less angrily.

"No," whirling around, he glared at her. "I don't want to hear it. It's good to know that all this time I've spent has been for nothing. You don't care and clearly you think its bullshit. I've worked my ass off. You know it, I know it, and everyone in this fucking house knows it. I come in here with all of this stuff for you, because it's Valentine's Day, and you told me you've never gotten a gift before. I'm trying to be nice to you, even though you've been getting mad at me for absolutely nothing these past weeks. It's annoying and I'm tired of it. I'll be downstairs." Stalking towards the doorway, he froze. "Come talk to me when you're back to normal."

* * *

Bellamy sat downstairs in the lounge, angrily turning pages, as hours passed and night fell. From the comfort of the couch, he watched guys leave the house alone and in small groups, all headed to pick up their dates. Struggling to focus, he turned another page without actually reading any of the text. Clarke hadn't said anything to him. She'd come downstairs, too. Hearing her, he'd refused to look in her direction. Holding his breath, he'd waited for her to come and apologize, or really say anything to him.

Nothing.

Bellamy based their lack of interaction on the basis of her not knowing exactly where he was. If she knew, she'd come talk to him. That was his logic. As more and more hours passed, it became quite clear that she wasn't even looking for him. She didn't want to say she was sorry; she didn't want anything to do with him. Bellamy had the couch, the remote, and his textbooks for companionship.

"Need to study," he muttered, turning the page back. His eyes kept drifting, and deep down in his stomach, he had a burning desire to go to the Ball. Glancing at the clock on his laptop, he bit his top lip, thinking. The Ball started at nine; it was already eleven. Most after-parties were almost in full swing, which meant there was plenty of good alcohol all over Greek Row. "It couldn't hurt…"

Hitting up an after-party also meant that he didn't have to go through the hassle of putting on formal wear. Tapping his pencil against his knee, he shook his head. There was the test. He turned another page and stared long and hard at the material, doing everything within his power to absorb the information. Nothing happened. It was almost like his ability to read had vanished. "I'll come back," standing up, he slipped his feet into some shoes and headed out. He would party-hop for an hour and then come back. That was good; that was responsible.

Ninety minutes later, he'd lost count of how many red cups he'd downed. Spotting long lost friends and acquaintances, he was met with smiles, half-hugs, and invitations to drink whatever he wanted. As liquor snaked down his throat, he thought about how good it all tasted. He'd cut out the drinking when things changed with Clarke. "Not that that matters now," he muttered, resting his head against the wall. Everyone in the room had a double and the lights had long since morphed into hazy balls of color.

She didn't want him, and everything had been in his head. All of it, going to class, spending time with her, helping her, was for nothing. She didn't care, at least not enough to just agree to give Tristan his last name. They were supposed to be in this together. That's what he meant every time he called her his girl, the closest thing to girlfriend. Why didn't she understand that? Why didn't _anyone_ understand that?

"She al-always gets so mad at me," he slurred. "I'm like… I do the best I can."

"You do," Gina agreed, stroking his back with her nails.

"I don't un-nerstan," he continued, rubbing his forehead. Her hands were so nice, so familiar.

"She's a bitch," she said plainly. "What's to understand? She's a bitch you stupidly got pregnant. Now see what you have to deal with?"

"She's not… Clarke is no bitch," he shook his head. Even in his shamefully drunken state, he knew that was inaccurate. "I like her."

"What do you mean?"

"Like a lot," he repeated. Everything was spinning. "She's so… her eyes."

"What about them?"

Swallowing, he imbibed an overwhelming mouthful of guilt. He'd yelled at her; he'd hurt her feelings. He'd even been stupid enough to bring up Finn. Bellamy knew he wasn't supposed to do any of that stuff, especially the last part. "I have… tell her I'm sorry."

"You don't have to tell her you're sorry," Gina rubbed his back and slid down next to him. Her boobs pressed against the side of his arm.

"Yes," he nodded. "She… mad."

"She's not mad at you," Gina consoled him in a low voice.

"Yeah," he nodded again knowingly. "I gotta…" Standing up quickly, he felt the immediate impact of his stupid decision. Stumbling, he lurched forward into the table and then staggered backwards, right into Gina's arms.

"You need to lie down," she said confidently.

"I need to see Clarke," he repeated firmly. He had to tell her he was sorry. She'd forgive him; she was way nicer and more understanding than any other girl he'd encountered in his life.

Bringing his arm up, he tried to push her off, away from him. Miscalculating, he ended up with his face buried in her neck. Lilac-scented perfume wafted into his nostrils, overwhelming his senses. Bellamy relished the feel of her skin against his face; it was smooth and comforting. He felt her heart beating and strands of her soft, brown hair tickled the edges of his face. "Take me… see Clarke."

"Yeah, okay," Gina said softly. "We're going to see her right now."

* * *

Bellamy knew as soon as his eyes opened and his mind cleared that he'd fucked up. He wasn't in his room, which meant he wasn't in his house, which meant he'd never gone to see Clarke. He was in someone else's bed, Gina's bed, to be more specific. He'd slept with Gina.

"Fuck," bringing his fist to his mouth, he screamed soundlessly and brought both hands up to rub his aching, red eyes. It wasn't supposed to happen. He hadn't meant it. What the hell was he supposed to tell Clarke? There was no way she didn't notice his nightlong absence.

Gina had sounded so sincere last night. Or maybe that was just how it sounded through drunken ears. Thinking back, he tried recalling any of what was said. Bits and pieces about not being appreciated floated to the surface of his memory. Gina agreed with him, on pretty much everything. She'd built him up.

Lying there, Bellamy knew she hadn't been sincere at all. She'd been in a manipulative mood and used him to somehow get back at Clarke. This was horrible. _Maybe I don't have to say anything_ , he considered briefly.

 _No_. That was wrong; that was basically like lying to her. Hopefully none of the guys had seen him leave with Gina. If any of them had, hopefully they'd been smart enough not to tell Clarke. If he was actually going to be honest, he wanted her to hear it from him, not Miller or Jasper or anyone else.

"Dammit!" Punching a pillow, he rolled onto his side, quickly searching the floor for his clothes. They were in a nice pile on the floor. Throwing her sheets back, he slipped into his boxers and started zipping up his pants. He felt horrible, like someone had punched him in the stomach and then run away laughing. This was his fault, all his fault.

He should've just stayed home. Clarke's fury was nothing compared to what it would be if she found out he'd gotten with Gina. It wasn't supposed to happen. Everything Gina said last night sounded so good; she'd comforted him, exactly like she wanted. And he'd been drunk and thinking about the absence of sex in his life for the last few months. Those factors combined and caused him to get naked with her.

Closing his eyes, Bellamy pressed his brain for any other recollections from the previous night. He'd wanted Clarke, really badly. That was probably another thing that explained his current situation. He wanted to be with one girl, but ended up sleeping with another.

Seizing his shirt, he slipped it over his head.

"Look whose up," Gina entered the room and set a cup of coffee on her white desk. Pulling her chair out, she sat down, crossed her legs, and stared at him innocently.

"This is bullshit and you know it," he said simply, tugging at the hem of his shirt. Patting his pockets, he checked to make sure he had his keys. This was already embarrassing. He didn't want to have to come back because he'd forgotten something.

"What are you talking about?" she asked stupidly, stirring her steaming drink with a pink spoon.

"You - Gina!" turning around, he just stared at her. "You tricked me into sleeping with you just to piss Clarke off."

"I didn't trick you," shrugging, she took a slow sip. "You were drunk, Bellamy, ridiculously so. I could've gotten you to jump off a bridge if I'd wanted."

"You manipulated me," he stuck to that defense.

"You wanted it," rolling her eyes, she scoffed. "Everyone knows that you're not getting any from that pregnant-"

"Don't," cutting her off, he held up a hand. Bellamy knew exactly what she wanted to say. "Everyone's right. You are fucking insane, Gina. I don't even know what to say right now. Stay away from me, okay? I don't want anything else to do with you."

"Guess who didn't use a condom last night?"

Halfway to the door, he stopped, dead.

That wasn't true. That couldn't be true. He'd never been incoherent enough to do that, and he'd had some pretty drunken one night stands. No. No, no, no, no, no. There was no way in hell that was accurate. That emptiness, that vast guilt, returned to his stomach. No way. He was prepared to literally throw himself in front of a semi if he got Gina, of all girls in the world, pregnant. Swallowing, he maintained his outwardly unruffled reserve and shook his head, refusing to believe anything coming out of her mouth. Her words were bullets, designed to maim targets and even innocent bystanders. Bellamy was done. This wasn't happening again.

"I wouldn't have a kid with you if somebody paid me," he said sharply, stalking down the hallway.

Thundering down the stairs, he ignored the looks of some of the girls in the house and burst outside. Thankful for his hoodie, he shook his head and mentally beat himself. _Worst mistake of my life_ , he thought. He needed a shower. Maybe if Clarke couldn't smell her, she wouldn't know. Maybe she was still annoyed with him, so she wouldn't ask any questions about his whereabouts. Bellamy didn't want to say anything. He was willing to do almost anything instead of tell her.

Entering the house, he slammed the door shut and jogged upstairs. Without bothering to check if she was in his room, he barged in and just stood there as she looked up from the bed. Clarke didn't look surprised to see him. She didn't look ready to start some sort of investigation. Swallowing, he tapped his fingers against the wood of his doorway. They stared at one another, like two deer who'd stumbled upon each other in the forest. Overcome with a lack of explanation, Bellamy wondered what he looked like through her eyes.

"I… I'm gonna take a shower," grabbing the necessary things, he all but ran from the room and disappeared into one of the closet-sized shower stalls. Clarke didn't know. He said that to himself over and over as warm water raced down his shoulders and over his head. Clarke didn't know; how the hell would she? He'd come home, fully dressed. He could've been out… not hooking up with Gina. No one in the house had better said anything to her if they had actually witnessed his departure last night. Paranoia and anxiety flooded his veins, making it impossible to stand still for more than a few seconds.

"Fuck."

* * *

A whole twenty-four hours passed.

With Clarke out of the house, Bellamy decided to corner Miller before they went their separate ways for class.

"I need to talk to you."

"About?" Miller raised an eyebrow.

"I fucked up," Bellamy began. "Really badly."

Miller ran his eyes over Bellamy's face and then asked slowly, "How?"

Glancing around the room, Bellamy stalked over to the doorway of the kitchen and searched back and forth, wanting to be absolutely certain that no one else was within earshot. He didn't have to worry about Clarke hearing because she was an hour away. "I slept with Gina," he admitted, covering his mouth as soon as Miller reacted.

Jaw dropping, Miller threw his hands out in Bellamy's direction. "What?" he hissed. "How the hell did that happen?"

"I don't know," Bellamy answered, panic evident in his voice. "Well… I mean, I got really drunk."

"And you had to sleep with her?" Miller's voice went up.

"Shh!" Bellamy motioned for him to lower his voice.

"Are you fucking stupid?!" Miller gave him a look.

"I didn't mean to!" That was the best he could come up with. There was no going back and changing anything. "I wasn't even supposed to go to anything Ball related. Clarke and I got into an argument and I came down here to study, but… I couldn't focus on anything."

"So you decided that getting drunk and banging your crazy ex-girlfriend was the solution?"

"She was never my girlfriend," Bellamy said calmly.

"I don't think that's the part you should be focused on," Miller countered, leaning against the wall. "You had sex with Gina. Clarke's gonna kill you."

"I thought you said Clarke wasn't gonna care."

"Of course she's gonna care!" Miller stared at him like he was the most incompetent man on the planet. "You got her pregnant! She's living in your room! Of course she's gonna care if you're out hooking up with other girls, especially Gina! And didn't we say that she was the best girl to happen to you! You have - excuse me - _had_ your shit together and now look!"

"I know," groaning, Bellamy rest his head in his hands. That was the worst part; he'd been doing so well. "I know, I know, I know. It wasn't supposed to happen."

"Have you told her?"

"No."

"Are you gonna tell her?"

"I don't know," Bellamy confessed. "I don't want to, but I feel like I should. But… I don't know. I don't want her to hate me more than she already does."

"Clarke doesn't hate you."

"I kind of yelled at her during the argument, and then I stormed out," Bellamy revealed.

"Someone else might tell her," Miller pointed out.

"No one else would do that," Bellamy said confidently, rocking back and forth on his heels. "I feel like such an asshole. At the party, I told Gina to take me to Clarke."

"You trusted her to bring you home to the girl she hates?" Miller wrinkled his forehead. "You're an idiot. Stupid, Bellamy."

"I know!" groaning louder, he could do nothing but agree. "She's never going to consider me now."

"You want to be with her?"

"Of course I want to be with her!" It was Bellamy's turn to give Miller the dumb-look. "Now I'll be lucky if she even looks at me. Dammit! I was doing-everything was fucking perfect! Why?!"

"You know you have to tell her," Miller said after a few minutes of Bellamy's wallowing.

"Yeah," Bellamy concurred. "I don't want to though." This had never been a problem before. He'd never had to answer to anyone else about sleeping with another girl. Technically, he didn't have to say anything. She frequently constantly made comments about them not being together, which meant in her mind, she wasn't his girlfriend.

But… he didn't want to be like that. He liked her; they were in the whole pregnancy situation together. It was the right thing to do. She might hate him, but she'd hate him even more if she happened to find out from someone else.

"I have to get to class," Miller clapped him on the back. "But I'm sure everything will be fine. Clarke doesn't seem like the kind of girl to go all out and hate you. She might get upset, but… you gotta deal."

"I know." Bellamy said sadly.

Miller gave him one more conciliatory pat and left.

* * *

 **Arguments, Valentines, and Gina, oh my!**

 **Ah, Bellamy. Always in trouble.**

 **ALSO, yeah, I know the Tristan bit was a bit weird, considering there was a Tristan in season two, but I had long since forgotten that minor character and had already set my mind on the name when I realized it. Sorry if that's a bit weird.**

 **I think this is the longest chapter yet; nineteen pages in word.**

 **As always, I love love love your reviews and thank you so much for those and to everyone who favorites and adds x &y to their story alert.**


	9. Chapter 8

Clarke noticed Bellamy's strange behavior but remained silent. After their fight, he hadn't come upstairs. She'd gone downstairs several times, each time pretending to ignore his existence. She'd wanted him to say something, call her over, but he didn't. With each hour she abandoned a little more hope that they were going to end up speaking before going to bed. So, she ended up with her sketchbook and a bag of charcoals.

Clarke also knew that Bellamy had slept with Gina. No one had to tell her. She knew because Bellamy never came back upstairs. Regardless of what they ever ended up arguing about, he always came back to his room and slept on the floor. That was the signal that, in spite of everything, they were still fine. That hadn't happened. She also figured it out from the guilty face he struggled to mask the following morning. Suddenly needing to shower, while still in the previous day's clothes, also didn't do much to help his case.

And Clarke didn't say anything. Bellamy didn't bring it up. During their hour long ride to school, he didn't mention anything out of the ordinary. And it wasn't like she could get mad at him. If he wanted to have sleep with Gina, he could go out and do it. Why would Bellamy, one of the most attractive guys on campus, choose to have sex with a girl bearing a stomach the size of a small beach ball over Gina? No one in their right mind would do that, not even the less than attractive guys on campus. It was actually kind of funny that he thought she didn't know.

"Hey, Clarke," Bellamy dropped his backpack upon entering the room. She looked up from her homework. "They guys want you to come downstairs."

"Why?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "They're all sitting in the lounge. It's actually kind of creepy."

Uncrossing her legs, she slid to the edge of the bed and rose awkwardly.

"Do you-" Bellamy stepped forward like he was going to help her, but then stepped back once he realized she was fine. Dropping his hands to his sides, he rubbed down the sides of his thighs and glanced round the room. "I guess…"

"Yeah," tugging at the bottom of her sweater, she pointed towards the door. "Are you coming?"

Staring at her uncertainly for a moment, Bellamy considered it. "Yeah," he said finally.

"Are you sure you don't know what it is?" narrowing her eyes, she stared at him, hard.

"No bullshit," he held up his hands. "I don't know what they're doing or what they want. Jasper just told me to come get you."

Accepting that answer, Clarke walked down the hall, down the stairs, and into the lounge. Seated around the room on the numerous couches and chairs, and posted against the walls, were the boys of the frat. Suspicious, Clarke glanced back and forth, unsure of what exactly she was supposed to do with all of them watching.

"Welcome to your baby shower!" Jasper said excitedly, hands in the air.

"What?"

"Your baby shower," he repeated happily, directing her to an open space on the couch. Once she was seated, everyone pulled out gift bags and large, wrapped boxes. Bellamy appeared a few seconds later and froze in the doorway, presenting the same confused expression. "Come join your girlfriend's baby shower."

"Baby shower?" Bellamy wrinkled his forehead.

"Yeah," Miller nodded. "We know that girls usually do this, but… we're here, so…"

"You guys didn't have to," raking fingers through his hair, Bellamy remained standing in the doorway, dumbstruck. Clarke watched him briefly before tentatively accepting the first bag, a blue one with yellow tissue paper. From it, she pulled out three onesies, each a different color, all bearing the letter 'T'.

"Awww." She couldn't help it. They were too cute. How did they even know the baby's name? She concluded that Bellamy must have mentioned it. He told them pretty much everything.

"Mine's better," Monty shoved another bag in front of her. Intrigued, Bellamy stalked in.

"Move over," Jasper motioned for Monty to scoot. "Let the couple sit together."

Rolling his eyes, Monty got up and sat on the floor, allowing Bellamy to flop down on the couch next to Clarke, where he threw his arm around the back of her seat. Clarke opened Monty's gift to reveal bottles and pacifiers with fire trucks on them. Suppressing another sound of delight, she managed a slow smile. Opening bag after bag, she acquired more clothes, bottles, jars of baby food, socks, and shoes small enough to fit in her palm. Moving onto the boxes, she revealed a high chair, an enormous supply of diapers, cans of formula, and a car seat.

"I got that one," Miller pointed to it proudly. "That was me, guys."

Pressing her lips together, Clarke stared at the piles of baby gear before her, all things she never could've afforded on her own, or even with Bellamy's assistance. It was a beautiful sight. They had a base, something to work with. Tristan wasn't going to come into the world with absolutely nothing, all because Bellamy's frat brothers were the nicest people on the planet. Tears unwillingly leaked down her face.

"Wait, why are you crying?" someone asked, alarmed.

"Hormones," someone whispered.

"I'm just… this is so nice," fanning her hands before her face, she struggled to breathe and dry her tears. "So nice…"

"You're having a boy," Jasper commented. "A legacy for Ark Chi Epsilon."

"And if you're going to be stuck with this kid," one of the guys clapped their hands down on Bellamy's shoulders, "you'll need a few things."

"Yeah, you could've done better, Clarke," Miller said simply.

"Way better," someone chimed in.

"But you chose Bellamy, and you live here, which makes you an honorary member of our house."

Rubbing her eyes, Clarke managed a smile. For the first time in a long time, she felt loved and she felt like belonged. Even by the guys she'd never really spoken to. They'd gone out and spent their money on her. Her baby wasn't their problem, their issue, their concern. But they'd bought her gifts and thrown her a makeshift baby shower. They were good guys, all of them.

"I thought all frat guys were assholes. I really can't say anything else besides thank you. I really appreciate this. You don't understand…"

"The assholes are down the street," Jasper smirked. "We're some of the greatest guys on campus."

"Where are we going to put all this?" she turned to Bellamy.

"Keep it in here," Miller answered, standing up to survey the room. "We can move some things around."

* * *

"Have you told her?" Miller cornered Bellamy in the kitchen after Clarke went upstairs.

"No," Bellamy shook his head. Glancing around, he made sure no one was close enough to hear any of what they were saying. "She just had her baby shower. And she's so happy right now."

"Excuses, excuses," Miller folded his arms. "You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"I don't want to tell her!" Bellamy hissed. "I know I should, but I just… I'm supposed to be better than that now. And I know I fucked up. I just really don't want to tell her, Miller. I really don't." Resting his head against the wall, he propped it back up suddenly. "Can you tell her for me?"

"Hell no," Miller wrinkled his forehead. "It's not my place to tell her."

"Fuck." Sighing, Bellamy punched the side of his thigh. "I don't think now is the best time. That baby shower was really cool, by the way."

"No problem," Miller shrugged. "I'm great. I know."

"I can't tell her now," Bellamy concluded. "Tomorrow. I'll tell her tomorrow."

"Are you actually going to do it, or are you just bullshitting?" Miller raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I will," Bellamy conceded beneath Miller's withering look. "I will, swear on my life. I just have to get my head together."

"Do you love her or something?" Miller questioned, relaxing his facial muscles.

"What?"

"Do you love her?" Miller repeated. "I mean, we've only known each other since freshman year, so I can't really comment. But from what I've seen, you're more of a man-whore, no offense, than a relationship guy. You've never gotten this worked up before."

"I do not - shut up. I don't love her. We barely know each other," Bellamy commented. Turning away from his best friend in the house, he gazed out the window.

"Don't be a bitch," Miller wheedled.

"I don't love her," Bellamy hissed. "I just like her a lot and… it's not even - we don't even have a thing, man. I'm supposed to be there for her because… things have not worked out like they were supposed to. That girl deserves better."

"You're going to marry _that girl_ ," Miller said definitively, waltzing over to the fridge.

"I'm done talking about this," Bellamy said quickly.

They'd gone miles off topic. Marriage? That was weird to talk about with any of them. Yeah, he'd shared his plan about getting a house with Clarke later on in life with Miller. He'd never specifically mentioned marrying her. If they were going to end up living together, raising a kid together, did that mean that they should just go ahead and get married?

No.

No, no, no.

Even if he asked, Clarke was bound to tell him no a half second after his proposal, or even during the proposal. His ideas weren't usually her favorite things. And somewhere down the line, Clarke was going to meet someone actually worthy of her.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go plan my funeral."

Marriage… of all things…

Bellamy waited until the sun set the following day. With the sky painted red and peach and pink, he dragged his feet upstairs to his room and watched Clarke for a few seconds before actually entering their domain. Holding his breath, he let it go in one, silent swoosh. Lifting her head, she noticed him and smiled serenely.

"Hi," she greeted him.

"Hey," shoving his hands in his pockets, he swallowed to combat his sudden dry mouth. "Uh… I have to tell you something, something important."

"What?"

"Uh, well." he couldn't concentrate with her looking at him like that. Removing his hands from his pockets, he discretely dried them on a sweatshirt hanging over his chair, and then shut the door. "I… it's… I really don't want to tell you this, but I feel like I should."

"What are you talking about?"

"I… um…" blinking repeatedly, he swallowed again and stared at her face, at her green eyes. Even when she got mad at him, they were always so calm. They were the prettiest eyes he'd ever seen. Clarke had the only pair of eyes he could actually name the color of, besides his and Octavia's. "Okay, so… you remember Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, well… there's this thing we have here called the Greek Hearts Ball. It's more of a formal, really, and everyone gets dressed up and… uh, we had our fight and stuff that day," he rambled. "You remember that?"

"Yeah," she nodded while twirling her pencil.

"I went downstairs to study for my test, which I ended up getting an A on, by the way," he explained. Maybe if he impressed her with his intellectual prowess, she wouldn't be as mad. Closing the distance between them, he sat down in the desk chair and once again wiped his hands on his sweatshirt. "But… I couldn't really focus because you were mad at me and we weren't talking to each other and I don't know. I wasn't getting anything done so I decided to go to one of the parties down the street. I told myself that I was only going to stay for an hour, but I got a little drunk and…"

Pausing, he studied her face, waiting to see if she would fill in the blank for him.

"And?" she looked at him strangely.

"And, uh… I m-might have-no," shaking his head, he decided it was best to just say it. There was no might have. "I-I did. I slept with Gina that night. That's why you didn't see me until the next morning."

Resting her chin on her fist, she looked at him intently. "I know," she said finally.

"What?" All the pressure in his chest vanished. How did she know that? Fury welled in his stomach. Who the hell told her before he did?

"I knew because you never came back," she answered slowly. "It was pretty obvious." She cracked her knuckles as his fury disappeared.

"I'm sorry," he apologized in a low voice.

"You don't have to say you're sorry," her eyes rose to a spot directly above his head. She didn't sound like she meant any of that. "You and I both know you'd rather have sleep with her than with me." She lowered her voice so much on the last part that it was almost unintelligible.

"Clarke," he groaned. "That's not true," he dropped his damp forehead onto the backsides of his hands. "We've talked about this." Closing his mouth, he decided not to say that he'd been thinking of her while having sex with Gina.

That was probably the last thing she wanted to hear, ever.

Clarke lowered her eyes back to her homework, like she no longer wanted to speak to him. _Please don't think I'm lying_ , he said telepathically. "We did, Clarke," he pressed. "That night? You remember, I know you do."

"You won't have sex with me because I'm fat," she mumbled.

"Clarke, you're not fat," he sighed. "You're having a baby. Completely different."

"You still wouldn't."

"Clarke!" he almost shouted before remembering where they were. "I won't have sex with you because it's not right, okay?! It's not because I don't think you're pretty much the hottest girl I've ever seen in my life, or because I think you're fat, or some bullshit reason like that. I want... I'm gonna tell you this and I don't care how it sounds or what you think. I want it to be like in those stupid romantic movies some girls like. I want to… I don't know, take you out somewhere nice and then come back to wherever the hell we're living and just… do it, a lot, all over the place, and make sure you have several orgasms. And there are candles and music and shit like that. _That's_ what it's supposed to be like. I'm not supposed to be a stupid frat guy and you're not supposed to be pregnant; that's not how it goes down in my head."

She just looked at him, her face flushed. "Its okay, Bellamy."

"It's not okay," he refused to believe that. "It's not okay, Clarke. I fucked up and I hurt your feelings and I'm sorry because I've never wanted to do that. I'm sorry for the stupid things I said and I'm sorry for sleeping with Gina…"

"Bell-"

"No," shaking his head, he stood up and shoved his chair in. The entire room felt like it was spinning. "I can't. I'm sorry, Clarke. I'll be back, I swear. I just can't do this right now. I'm sorry."

Grabbing his favorite hat, he walked quickly from of the room.

* * *

Shifting in the bed, Clarke slowly opened her eyes in the relative darkness. A strange sound had awoken her from a fairly decent dream. She didn't even want to look at the clock; she knew it was late. Bellamy's frenzied exit from the room earlier had been weird, but she'd gotten over it. Clarke assumed he wasn't going out to mess around with Gina, or anyone else, again, so she left him to it. Lying on her back, still half-asleep, she listened to his shoes thud to the floor as he kicked them off.

Pressure at the foot of the bed attracted her attention. The mattress springs groaned beneath the extra weight. Bellamy placed a hand on her ankle and moved her legs to the side. "Move over," he said.

"Bellamy, what are you doing?" she asked, unnerved.

"Just… move," he scoot her legs over a little more gently. Heart racing, she yielded as much room to him as possible. A full-size bed was not built to handle a pregnant girl and a guy. Bellamy crashed down next to her, squashed between her body and the wall. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and tried to adjust himself more comfortably. All of Clarke's senses went into panic-mode, but she didn't move. She couldn't move. Bellamy had only been so close once before, and his drunkenness was obvious at the moment. Throwing his arm over her, he turned to stare at the side of her face. Keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling, Clarke did her utmost to calm her heart rate.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked after a minute or two.

"No." And it was the truth. She wasn't afraid _of_ him; Bellamy had never intentionally done anything to physically or emotionally harm her. But, past circumstances made her afraid of their present positioning. In spite of deep-breathing techniques and attempts to think of other things, her heart was still pounding like an angry fist against a door. The only thing making it bearable was that it was Bellamy, who she knew wouldn't hurt her, and that he was on top of the covers, rather than under them with her.

Bellamy took his arm off and rolled onto his back. He was still fully dressed. Clarke took his silence as his descent into sleep. Closing her eyes, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, hoping that her interrupted dream would return. She was about to marry Channing Tatum. A strange noise made her ears perk up and her eyelids shoot open just as she was about to utter 'I do'. It took a few moments for her mind to register what it was.

"Bellamy?" she questioned, still not entirely confident. "Are you crying?"

"No," he fired back. Clarke didn't need to look in his direction to know that he was in fact, crying. It was more like sniffling, the precursor or close companion of crying. _What am I supposed to do right now?_

Bellamy continued sniffling. "What if… they won't let me be his dad?"

"What?"

"What if they take him away from me because…?" Sniffling and rubbing the corners of his eyes, he didn't finish.

"Who'll take him away?" Clarke questioned. Was he crying over Tristan?

"The people," he answered vaguely, still sniffing. She understood what he was getting at. Bellamy had never voiced such concerns while sober. Clarke licked her bottom lip and swallowed. No one could do that.

"No one's going to take him away," she said softly. "Bell…"

"I'm trying so hard," he mumbled. "I swear, Clarke. I know that you think I'm an idiot."

"I don't think you're an idiot, Bellamy."

"I know I'm not… I'm trying," he rubbed his hands over his face and sighed a watery sigh. "I'm going to do whatever it takes for you and the kid. We'll be happy."

"I know. Thanks, Bellamy," Clarke said quietly. Resting her hands on her stomach, she blinked slowly. She felt Tristan moving around inside. His drunken promises were actually quite nice.

"Can I touch you?" he inquired so softly, she had to struggle to hear it.

Instead of answering, she reached out blindly across the short median of space between him and pressed her fingertips lightly to his forearm. His skin prickled beneath her touch, and he watched her in the darkness, his eyebrows knit together – in anger or confusion, she couldn't tell in the darkness.

"Sorry, I should've asked-" Clarke said, hastily withdrawing her hand from where it rested on his shoulder.

"You can touch me anytime you want, Clarke," he said gruffly, taking her hand in his and replacing it back on his shirt clad shoulder.

With the tips of her fingers, she touched his face, tracing the freckles she knew was there but couldn't see in the dark, continuing past the slope of his shoulder, briefly touching the scar at his lip. Lastly, she pressed her fingers on his lips, tracing the skin there. His lips parted beneath her touch.

Her breath hitched, and she withdrew her hand, shoving it beneath the covers to keep herself in check. Her hormones were wild, and she was afraid of herself; afraid she'd take advantage of his drunken state.

"You're too good for me," he replied finally, throwing his arm back across her. Rolling onto his side, he went back to staring at the side of her face. Clarke didn't want to turn to gaze directly into his; that was a little too much. She felt his warm breath skate over her face every time he exhaled. "You're beautiful. I'm glad you're my girlfriend." He kissed her lightly on the cheek and rested his forehead against her shoulder.

"Okay," Clarke awkwardly pat him on the head. "Go to sleep, Bellamy. You're drunk."

"Whoa," he held up the hand crossing her. "I am not drunk, Clarke. I'm just… moderately tipsy. That's it." He laughed, which made her laugh along. At least he wasn't crying anymore. "You smell nice, too."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

When Spring Break came, Bellamy found himself on a beach a little closer to home than the one he'd spent tanning on for seven straight days last year. Every year, the house went to Florida for some collegiate, Spring Break debauchery. He'd talked about it weeks before with Clarke, and she'd offered no complaint. Bellamy actually considered going because beaches in Florida during Spring Break were always a memorable time. There were drinks, scantily clad girls, wet t-shirt contests, and red cups everywhere. It was beautiful.

All the guys were amped, talking about the hotel and the madness that was sure to ensue. Their excitement got him excited, and then mildly depressed after concluding that he would have to sit it out. Clarke was down, but… she wasn't just some girl. Their circumstances were different than most, and Panama City would just have to miss out on him and his pregnant girlfriend.

There would be other Spring Breaks.

He watched longingly from the living room as the guys trickled out the front door and piled into the vans, prepared for a week of memories and stories never to be repeated. Hands pressed to the glass, he gazed at their luggage, their board shorts, and their smiling faces. They waved to him, offered their condolences, and then the house fell eerily silent. It was just him and Clarke.

This beach wasn't that bad. It wasn't as rowdy and reckless, but it had its perks. For one, they had a perfect, unobstructed view of the ocean. Last year, the only way to secure a decent oceanic view was to wake up at dawn. Thinking to himself, Bellamy couldn't really come up with any other reasons.

Except that it also gave him the chance to keep an eye on Octavia's new _friend_ , Lincoln.

No one was drunk, there was no loud music, and he sincerely doubted that a wet t-shirt contest would spontaneously erupt. People were just sitting in their beach chairs beneath their enormous umbrellas, reading novels and newspapers. Scanning the beach, he stopped on a group of guys throwing a Frisbee around. None of them looked older than sixteen. And for some unexplainable reason, Bellamy wanted to hit every single one of them. He kept looking.

There were a lot more old people here than in Panama City.

Sighing, he ran his hands over his navy blue board shorts. He stared at a group of blonde girls in bikinis as they walked past, giggling. One waved; Bellamy offered a smile in return. They bunched even closer, still giggling, and continued walking.

"Jeez," Octavia said abruptly, bumping into his side as she escaped the surf, where she left Lincoln to be plowed down by a wave. She flicked a piece of seaweed at him and missed. "Eyes forward, big brother." She nodded her chin cheekily. Octavia had somehow clued into Bellamy's feelings for Clarke, and tried to innocently shove them together every chance she got, regardless of the fact that Clarke lived with him, spent most of her time with him, and slept in his bed every night.

Granted, _alone_.

Clarke approached them slowly, blond hair sticking to her face and her shoulders. Bellamy brightened up considerably. Her green and yellow tie-dye bikini was soaked. Ever since Maya mentioned it during their double date night, he had to keep his eyes above her chin lest she caught him checking out her rather impressive rack.

It didn't help that she had probably bought the bikini top before she was pregnant, and he was sure it was a size too small.

"There you are." She smiled at Bellamy and her eyes flickered to Octavia. Bellamy knew their friendship was still strained thanks to Jackass Collins, but Clarke seemed to be putting in a considerable effort.

"Clarke," Octavia brightened. "Come swim with us." She nodded her head back to where Lincoln was desperately trying to right himself in the water.

Clarke snorted, "I'd better not. I think he needs help."

Octavia followed her gaze and rolled her eyes. "Men," she huffed, and shook out her wet hair. "Lincoln, stop horsing around!" she called as she joined him in the water, somehow managing to stay on her feet in the splashing waves, as if daring them to knock her off her feet. If Clarke was a force of nature, Octavia was a freight train without brakes. The waves would part for her.

Bellamy followed Clarke wordlessly to their spot.

"This is fun," Clarke got down on her knees and then crawled onto her yellow beach towel. Easing around, she sat down and grimaced a little.

"What's the matter?" he asked immediately.

"Nothing," she shook her head and dug through her bag. Extracting a comb, she combed through the knots and tied her hair up in a wet bun. Salt water dripped down her face and onto her shoulders. "I'm sorry for ruining your third consecutive break."

"You're not ruining anything," he countered. She studied his face, disbelieving him. "What? This?" He gestured to the plain scene before them. "This is awesome. My sister's here, I got my girl, and I can keep an eye on that guy. Best break ever."

"You're such a liar," rolling her eyes, she crammed her comb back in her bag.

"No… okay," he consented. "This isn't anything close to the Spring Break I had last year, but its fun."

"You haven't even gotten in the water," she pointed out.

"I don't want to mess up my hair," he replied. "You think this curly bed-head comes easy?"

A small smile tugged at her lips, but she fought it. Bellamy glanced up at the fiery edges of the sun before gazing back at her face. "I like this, Clarke. Don't worry about it."

"What'd you do last Spring Break, then?" she questioned.

Pausing, he just stared at her. Bellamy didn't want to tell her directly. "Well… uh, I'd like to believe that you know me pretty well by now, so what do you think I did?" He decided turning the situation around on her was a far better idea.

Clarke inhaled deeply and analyzed his face. "Well, Bellamy, I'm going to guess that you got drunk?"

"Excellent guess," he congratulated her. "And?"

"And you," squinting her eyes, she thought. "Slept with several scantily clad girls?"

"You're damn right I did," he said proudly. Clearing his throat, he lost the smirk when she made a face. "Just once, though. Well, not just once. It was several times, but same girl. So it was like it was only once."

"Thank you, Bellamy," she held up a hand.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat again. "What about you?"

"What?"

"What'd you do last Spring Break?"

"This," she answered plainly, gesturing to the simple beach. "Octavia and I came here almost every day."

"That's it?" he wrinkled his forehead. There had to be some crazy details she was leaving out. Wasn't underage drinking, bonfires, and the like the norm?

"Yeah," she nodded. "Isn't that what you did during high school Spring Breaks?"

"Yeah, but I mean, I did some other stuff, too," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. It felt like she was judging him. She probably wasn't doing it intentionally, but that's how it felt beneath her green eyes.

"I'm not really big on drinking, never have been," Clarke responded. "And I'm not a much of a partier. That's probably why my stories aren't that entertaining to you. Octavia had to drag me kicking and screaming everywhere."

"You're very entertaining," he said quickly. She smiled a bit. Compliments always worked.

"When'd you start drinking?"

"In college?" he played dumb.

"No," she said sharply. "In life."

"Umm… well… let's see," he pretended to think just to stall. He wondered why she wanted to know that before responding. "Fifteen."

"Fifteen?" she echoed.

"I-yeah," he nodded. "It was only a shot of rum at a friend's party." Brushing sand off of his board shorts, he stared over the ocean. It'd been the worst feeling ever, and he decided that if all alcohol burned and tasted like that, he was never drinking again. Thankfully at another party, he'd been enlightened. "When'd you start?"

"Sixteen," she replied. "I had a beer at this party and it was disgusting."

"Beer's not so bad," he shrugged.

"'Cause you're a guy," Clarke rolled her eyes.

"I enjoy other alcohols," he tore his eyes from the white-washed waves to look back at her. "I can do rum, like I said. I like - actually, I love - vodka. If I'm drunk enough, I can even enjoy some wine."

"I like wine."

"Wine is disgusting," Bellamy wrinkled his nose. "How do you like wine and not beer?"

"Wine is classy," Clarke countered.

"Beer is just as classy!" Bellamy argued.

"How?" Clarke folded her arms.

"If you put in a fancy glass, it's fancy," he fired back. He could tell from her face that it was bad reasoning. She didn't say anything back. "Like a nice, crystalline... I didn't know we were playing the _investigate Bellamy's life_ game."

"You're doing a fine job," she said sarcastically.

"What else do you want to know?" he fired back just as derisively. He'd been honest about everything. And half the fun was always seeing her reaction.

"When'd you lose it?"

"Lose what?"

"Your virginity."

"Same age I got my driver's license. Sixteen," he explained, shrugging at the end like it was nothing. "In fact, if I remember correctly, I think I got my license, and drove over to my girlfriend at the time's house to get laid."

"Cute."

"I'm kidding, Clarke," he dropped the sarcasm. "Don't look so put out."

"I'm not," she stretched out carefully on her back. "I'm just trying to figure out if high school you was just as slutty as you are now."

"Don't slut-shame me," bringing a hand to his chest, he took mock-offense. "I am not a slut, Clarke. I told you that if we're not counting drunken hook-ups, I've only had sex with six girls, which really isn't that bad. Half the guys at the house have had four times that."

"Some people go their whole lives without having sex with that many people," she said back.

"Well," he had nothing to say to that. In his mind, six wasn't that high of a number. There were definitely some people on his campus, girls included, who'd had sex with way more people. Even if she wanted to include the other five, bringing his number up to the true eleven, that still didn't seem so awful. "In response to your inquiry, no, I wasn't as 'slutty' in high school as I am now. Girls didn't really like me then."

"Yeah, okay," she scoffed.

"I'm serious," Bellamy said ardently, turning to face her. "Don't get me wrong, I was fucking awesome in high school. You should remember. But girls, for some reason, didn't really want anything to do with me. I guess it was fine because I wasn't that good at dating or… relationships."

"Kind of like now, huh?"

Bellamy shrugged. "All I know is, I came to college, and girls started looking. So I gave 'em what they wanted."

"Ugh," Clarke scoffed again.

"Clarke, don't deny that I'm a hot piece of ass, alright?" he made a face. Bringing her hands up, she rested her head on them and watched him. "Look at this body." He showcased his abs like a girl on a game show. "And look at my face." He pointed a confident index finger at it. "Even you think I'm cute."

Shaking her head, Clarke smiled in another direction.

"It's okay, I understand. I think you're beautiful and you think I'm hot. We're made for each other," he returned his eyes to the waves rolling in. Kids screeched and ran back to their parents at the unexpected power. Bellamy intently watched a guy carrying his daughter on his shoulders. He walked waist-deep into the water, took her off his shoulders, and flew her over it like a plane. The girl, who looked about two, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it.

Bellamy wanted to ask Clarke the same question, but slightly feared the outcome. Her reaction to his initial revealing of his number had grossed her out, so he knew she hadn't slept with that many people, or anyone at all. Biting his thumb nail, he kept thinking. Had she had even had sex with anyone before…? Probably not. She'd told him on several occasions that her dad hadn't allowed her to date – it would distract her from med school or running for president, or whatever it was Abby and Jake Griffin decided should be her future.

And Clarke didn't come across as the kind of girl who would have sex with someone without being romantically involved with them. So her number was either zero… or one. But thinking about that infuriated him. Grinding his teeth, he looked down at his lap.

"Can I touch you?" he inquired.

Clarke opened her eyes. "What?"

"Your stomach," he clarified. Even after easing into some sort of dating-without-benefits relationship, Bellamy kept his hands to himself a majority of the time. Much to his dismay.

"You're the boyfriend," she shrugged. "As you drunkenly proclaimed last month."

"I wasn't drunk," he said a little loudly. People looked over so he shielded his face until the coast seemed clear. Reaching a hand over, he planted his palm at the very top, right where it peaked. Tristan kicked at that exact moment.

"Ow," Clarke muttered.

"I wasn't drunk, Tristan," Bellamy repeated, rubbing his hand back and forth across her smooth stomach. It was like a rock at the very bottom of a stream, edge-less and inviting. "Your mom likes to exaggerate."

"You were definitely drunk."

"I was tipsy at best," he clarified.

"Weren't you crying, too?" she raised an eyebrow.

Bellamy made a face at her instead of answering. It didn't count as crying if there were no tears involved. He'd just been emotional. Smirking, she closed her eyes and went back to napping.

"No, I wasn't crying," he said quietly to her stomach.

"Yes he was, Tristan," she said seconds after his rebuttal. "He was drunk and crying."

* * *

 **As always, thank you for the comments. I always love reading them, they put a smile on my face. So yeah. And thank you for all the story alerts and follows. You guys are seriously awesome.**


	10. Chapter 9

"Bellamy."

Rolling his eyes, Bellamy shut the front door after Clarke. He wasn't in the mood to deal with his mom. They hadn't really spoken to each other since Winter Break, which was roughly two months ago. He was reasonably polite to her, she was still his mom, but it wasn't the same as before.

"What, Ma?" he shouted. The three of them had just walked in the door from a really nice day at the beach. He didn't want her ruining it.

"Can you come in here?"

Clarke turned around and looked at him, rubbing her arms. Octavia looked between their mother and him, and sighed, annoyed. "Mom," she warned.

"I got it," he said exasperatedly. "This shouldn't take long."

Clarke nodded shortly, adjusted the bag on her shoulder, and walked down the hall towards his room, Octavia in tow. Sighing, Bellamy rubbed his forehead, inhaled deeply to calm down despite not being mad, and then walked towards the living room. His mom was sitting on the couch. As he entered, she lowered the volume some.

"What?" he leaned in the doorway, arms folded. All he wanted to do was hop in the shower and rinse the sand off his body. Sand had an annoying habit of wedging itself in the most irritating of places, despite not having direct contact with it.

"Bellamy," she sighed and waved for him to actually enter. "Come sit down, please."

Rolling his eyes again, Bellamy unfolded his arms, stalked into the room, and flopped down on the couch. Sealing his lips, he pondered over what his mom could possibly want. Neither of them had made an effort to have a real conversation in the past sixty days.

"How was the beach?"

"Fine," he said curtly, removing his hat. Planting it on his fist, he spun it around to remain levelheaded. He wasn't pissed yet, but he had a nagging feeling that she was just going to end up saying something for him to end up that way.

Pressing her hands into her lap, she stared at him. Bellamy continued spinning his hat. Exhaling through her nose, she glanced at a commercial on TV and then back at him. "Alright. I really just want to talk about Clarke, Bellamy," she said plainly.

"I'd really rather you didn't," Bellamy countered, locking his jaw in place. _I knew it_ , he thought to himself. Had she really not gotten the picture the last time they were together?

"It's not what you think," she hurried to correct herself. "I don't want - I didn't call you in here so I could talk badly about her."

"Sure you didn't," Bellamy answered, yawning. Spending half the day at the beach had made him tired. He'd probably just take a nap after showering.

"Bellamy," she said sternly.

Suppressing the desire to roll his eyes again, he cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"I know you and I haven't really spoken since your last break, and I know that I'm partially to blame."

"Partially?" he wrinkled his forehead. She gave him a look that told him to stop interrupting. Closing his mouth, Bellamy leaned back into the couch and stopped spinning his hat. If she wasn't planning on shit-talking, he might actually listen.

"Maybe a little more than partially," she relinquished that point. Swallowing, she looked down at her hands. "And I would like to apologize for the things I said about Clarke. It was wrong of me to pass such harsh judgment."

"Yeah, it was," Bellamy muttered.

Ignoring him, his mom continued, "You have to understand though… learning that my nineteen year old son had gotten his seventeen year old sister's best friend pregnant was heart-breaking."

Bellamy just stared at her.

"Anyway," biting her lower lip, she released it and carried on. "I was very upset that you'd done something so stupid. Between you and Octavia, you've always been the more irresponsible one, but I never thought you'd become a father before graduating college. I taught you better and… from all the years of her being over here, I know that Clarke is a good kid, and she knows better, too. So… you screaming at me that you were the father of her baby was not what I wanted to hear, at all."

"Well that's how it is, Mom," Bellamy said darkly, rubbing the back of his head. He couldn't tell where this little chat was going, and he didn't like the uncertainty. She didn't have to tell him that she was mad at him for getting Clarke pregnant. That was pretty obvious by the looks she'd given her over Winter Break.

"I understand that now," she said sharply. Bellamy stared at her skeptically. "It took me some time to come to terms with this situation, and the thought still upsets me because this is not what I wanted for you, but I've accepted that this is reality. A bright side to this whole thing is that you could've gotten a worse girl pregnant, so… I guess I thank you for not doing that."

"Clarke is a nice girl," Bellamy commented. His mom nodded in agreement. With stalled conversation came silence, silence they were accustomed to. Except now it felt awkward, stifling.

"I called you in here to tell you that I'm proud of you," her voice sliced the silence in half. Caught off guard, Bellamy turned and studied her face, checking to see if she was being honest. He hadn't heard that from her since middle school. Turning to face him, she smiled a bit.

"For getting her pregnant?"

"No," losing the smile, she made a face. "I'm proud of you for stepping up and doing the right thing. In that aspect, I did raise you properly. You're finally acting like a responsible adult and it… I hate that these circumstances brought it out, but at the same time, it makes me very happy."

Bellamy lost the sharp edges and actually paid closer attention. She hadn't been lying when she promised no negativities about Clarke.

"You didn't hesitate to let her move in with you when her parents kicked her out; a frat house is not the ideal place for a young, pregnant girl, but you let her stay anyway. You've brought her home for every single break, you take her to her appointments, and you stand up for her. I'm very proud of you, Bellamy, for taking responsibility. And I also called you in here to tell you that I am going to help the two of you," she took a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" Bellamy questioned.

"You mentioned a while back that her parents want nothing to do with her," she clarified, tucking hair behind her ear. "And I'm sure you two have realized that you'll need a place to stay once school ends in May." Bellamy stared blankly at her. What was she implying? Was she politely kicking them out? "Clarke's pretty big now, definitely bigger than the last time I saw her. How far along is she?"

"Seven months."

"And the baby's name?"

"Tristan," Bellamy answered.

"Hm. A boy," she said simply. Shaking her head, she cracked her knuckles. "You better hope he takes after her."

Bellamy smiled a bit at her comment. That sounded like something Clarke would say.

"You guys are only here for two weeks," she said smartly. "When you head back to school, I will begin the process of transforming your room into a bedroom/nursery. It'll be a tight squeeze, but… you'll manage. When he's actually born, I'll be here to help Clarke get used to being a mom. She graduates in June, so it's going to be a crazy two months for both of you."

"We actually have a lot of stuff already. We had a baby shower," Bellamy shared.

"When?" His mom questioned.

"Last month," he answered shortly. "The guys went out and bought some stuff for us."

"Your frat brothers threw you a baby shower?" she asked for clarification.

"Yeah," Bellamy shrugged casually. "We got some good stuff, too. They gave us formula and diapers and clothes and… Miller gave us a car seat."

"I'm shocked and impressed," she said in a low voice, still astounded. "If that's the case, give me a list of things you still need, and I'll go out and get them."

"Okay," hopping up from the couch, he started to leave. He really wanted to feel steaming water pounding against his skin. Clarke had finally gotten him to venture into the water with her; a thin layer of sand and salt coated his skin and that was fine for the beach. Now that he was home, he felt grimy and wanted it off.

"And Bellamy?"

"Yeah?" he turned around.

"Please don't drop out of school," locking eyes with him, she held him in place with her words. It was a plea, and he could tell she was struggling to remain calm for the moment.

"Mom."

"You two are young parents and I know it's going to be hard," she cut him off. "It's going to be incredibly stressful and crazy and everything. At times you are going to want to give up; I know because I felt that at times with you and your sister, and I was in my late twenties. But, please, promise me that no matter how hard it gets, you will not drop out of school."

"I can't drop out," Bellamy replied after verifying that she'd finished. She didn't have to make that request. Clarke would literally kill him if he dropped out of school. Plus, there was so much riding on his graduation. He needed a real job so he could make enough money to get him, Clarke, and Tristan their own place; Bellamy definitely didn't want to live with his mom for the rest of his life. He'd quit a lot of things in his life, but college wasn't about to go on that list. "I've got a family to take care of."

Placing his hat back on his head, he left her to the television.

* * *

Clarke grunted a little as Bellamy flipped through the channels. The glow from the television washed the walls blue, illuminating their faces in the darkness. Bellamy was seated normally; Clarke was stretched out on the remainder of the couch, legs hanging over the farthest arm, head on Bellamy's knees.

"What?" he put the remote down.

"Nothing."

"Is he kicking you again?"

"Like crazy," she muttered.

"You are really active," he started rubbing her stomach. "Maybe he'll be a soccer player, an internationally famous soccer player, like David Beckham."

"Whatever," Clarke mumbled. "I just want him to stop kicking me."

"You're upsetting your mom, Tristan," Bellamy said evenly. "Stop kicking her."

Clarke appreciated him addressing her stomach. It wasn't changing Tristan's agenda, but it was cute. Tristan had powerful legs; one time he'd kicked her so hard she'd woken up from a nap. She was truly grateful for the moments when he went still – long enough for her to rest, but not long enough she began to worry.

"Two months left," Bellamy commented, whistling at the end. "You scared yet?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Maybe when the day comes."

"Are you going to get an epidural?" he questioned.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"How much pain I can take," she replied. "And if I really want to be injected with another needle."

"I don't like needles either," he admitted, dancing his hand over the apex of her stomach. "I've already told you that I couldn't have kids. Sounds terrifying and painful and gross."

"If I was scared, you're not making it any better," she said plainly, rubbing the side of her neck. Reaching for the remote, she changed the channel to one talking about celebrity drama.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'd only want to be a girl for one reason."

"What?"

"Boobs," he smiled widely.

"Seriously?"

"Hell yeah," he said happily. "Boobs are awesome. And yours are huge."

"Bellamy!" she snapped.

"Sorry," he lost the smirk.

Silencing themselves, they got lost in an over-the-top report of an unnecessarily extravagant wedding. "Do you want to be in the room with me?" Clarke asked finally. She'd been meaning to ask him at the start of Spring Break.

"What, the delivery room?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" he asked, taken aback. "Like, really?"

"Yes, Bellamy," she said with far less enthusiasm.

"He-yeah," he nodded excitedly. "Of course I'll be in there with you." Bellamy started bobbing his head to a silent song.

"I have another question."

"Yeah, anything," he agreed without even hearing it.

"Prom," Clarke ignored his agreement.

"What?" Bellamy's smile vanished.

"Prom," she repeated, clearing her throat. She'd dreamt about Prom since entering high school. The decorations, the music, the memories. It was silly, but Clarke had wanted it all for so long. She and her mom were supposed to go shopping for the perfect dress, she'd get her hair done in some fancy style, and she'd dance with her friends.

"Umm," Bellamy paused and thought. "When is it?"

"The last week of April. So… next month."

"Are you sure you wanna-"

"I don't want to say that I missed my Prom because I was pregnant," she said roughly. A lot of her senior year experience had been abandoned because of that very reason. She just wanted one night, one night to feel like a normal senior again. It was Prom, and then graduation. Those were the last huge events of her high school career.

Clarke wanted both.

"But that's so close to your due date," Bellamy pointed out. "You don't want to be the girl who goes into labor at Prom."

"I sincerely doubt that Tristan will come early. He's having too much fun bruising me internally," she argued. Rubbing her tongue over the roof of her mouth, she awaited Bellamy's response, which didn't come. "And I'm not due until the middle of May." Bellamy still didn't say anything. "You don't want to go, do you?"

"It's not that, Clarke."

"Then what?" tearing her attention from the TV to his face, she shot him a glare.

"I…" looking down, he saw her face. Pasting a smile on, he immediately returned his attention to the bright screen. "You know what? You're right; I don't want to go. But, it's going to make you happy, so… I will go back to high school with you. I'll even go dress shopping with you. How 'bout that?"

"Sounds great," Clarke cooled her eyes and looked back at the TV. "Did something traumatic happen to you at Prom?"

"What are you talking about?" Bellamy rubbed the end of his nose.

"Why don't you want to go?"

"I don't know," he shrugged listlessly. "It's… I don't know. Prom is just guys in formal wear getting up on girls in formal wear. The music is shit, there's no alcohol, and… yeah."

"It sounds like your Greek formals," Clarke replied sarcastically.

"Wrong," Bellamy held up a contradictory finger. "There's alcohol at the formals. Speaking of which, one contributing factor to my agreement is that I wanted to take you to the Greek Hearts Ball."

"Why didn't you ask me?" That was news to her.

"You would've said no."

"You're right," sighing, she readjusted her head in his lap. Bellamy snorted at her response. Moving his hand from her stomach to her head, he teased fingers through her hair. "But regardless of how shit Prom is, you still have to go. It's the last thing you do before you walk across a stage, receive a diploma, and get thrown into the real world."

His fingers felt nice.

"Did you even go to your Prom?"

"Of course," he yawned. "I didn't bring a date though; my friends and I all decided it'd be cooler to go stag. We stayed for an hour and then promptly left to retrieve alcohol and girls. We were unsuccessful in both endeavors, so we just party-hopped. I succeeded in getting insanely drunk, and it was wonderful."

"What about the girls?"

"Nah. I was a good boy that night."

"I'm shocked."

"As was I."

"Bellamy." Clarke could do nothing but roll her eyes.

"What? I lived a rockstar lifestyle in my younger years, Clarke. You know that," he said simply, like that made up for everything. Tossing the remote aside, he looked at the clock. "It's late and we should be getting to bed. See? I can be responsible."

"Yeah, okay," Clarke snorted and eased up halfway.

"I'm still a rockstar," he pressed, grabbing her hands. Exerting some effort, he pulled her up to her feet, and then waited a few seconds to make sure she didn't fall backwards. Proud of his efforts, he turned the TV off, bathing the room in darkness. "I've just toned it down a bit since getting with you."

"I'm going to bed," stepping around him, Clarke began her slow, uncomfortable walk to his room.

Trying to make her laugh, Bellamy whipped his shirt off and swung it around his head.

"These abs are coming with you. Hold on," racing to the front, he turned around and started dancing backwards in her direction.

"You're so lucky that I can't run," she hissed.

"Or what?" he fired back, still dancing. Seizing her hands, he swung her arms up and down. "You wouldn't do anything, Clarke. Touch these and all is forgiven." Forcing her palm open, he ran her bare hand over his abdominals. Rolling her eyes again, she pulled her hand back and motioned for him to be quiet. He did have a point; his abs were fantastic. Like he could read her thoughts, he raised his eyebrows twice and continued swinging her arms up and down until they made it to his room.

He did make her laugh. Just a little.

* * *

Clarke perused the racks, digging through the formal remnants. Most of her classmates had long since bought their dresses, which explained the less than spectacular selection. She was partially to blame. Prom was in a month and she hadn't even started looking. Pieces of her conversation with Bellamy came to mind. He'd brought up some good points, all things she'd thought of herself. At the beginning of the year, she'd honestly considered not going. She didn't want to be the pregnant girl at Prom. And what if the unthinkable, her water breaking, actually did happen? That'd be worse than showing up in the same dress as someone else.

"Highly unlikely now," she muttered to herself. In spite of all the frightening possibilities, she decided to attend last month. She wanted to hear the bad music, see her classmates dressed up in their finest attire, eat the cookies and other food items her school budgeted for, and most of all, she wanted to dance. That was her main motivation. At every single dance she'd ever attended, she danced until her entire body, including her dress, was soaked with sweat. It was far from cute, but it was a sign she'd had a good time. And she'd always been with Octavia and their friends. Which included Finn.

Now those memories felt tainted.

"No," she mumbled. Shoving those memories to the darkest corners of her mind, she continued looking. A mom walked past with her daughter in tow, staring. Clarke looked up just in time to see the mom seize her daughter by the arm and pull her down the center aisle, avoiding her completely. _Pregnancy's not contagious_ , she thought. Shaking her head, she moved to another rack, desperate to find something.

"What about this?" Bellamy called over.

Clarke turned around to see, and nearly gagged at the sight. Swinging from a hanger was a teal monstrosity more suitable for an ailing disco ball than her. She couldn't think of anything else besides a rotating, blue orb when looking at it. The infinite number of sequins glittered in the store lights, nearly blinding her. "No," she said simply.

"You don't like sequins?" he hung it back up.

"I think my reaction said it all," Clarke returned to her search. "And I'm honestly surprised that you know what those are."

"Mom and Octavia always had Project Runway on," he answered, chewing gum. She glanced over her shoulder at him; he smirked and raised his eyebrows in response. Cramming his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the aisle. "What about this?"

"I hate yellow," she said without really looking at it.

"I like yellow," he countered, swinging it enticingly.

"You're not the one wearing the dress."

"I _could_ wear the dress," he placed it back on the rack. "That'd be a sight for your little high school."

"Could you try to be serious?" Clarke sighed, a bit exasperated. She should've just waited until the weekend when she could go dress shopping with Octavia rather than take up Bellamy's offer to accompany her; at least Octavia's style succeeded Bellamy by miles. But with her luck, by then, the dress choices would be even more nonexistent.

"It's Prom," he blew a bubble and popped it with his teeth. "Absolutely not." Leaning against the rack, he stared over at her. "What's the theme, anyway?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Hm," Bellamy rubbed his chin. "Johnny Depp style or the old one?"

"Just Alice in Wonderland," Clarke answered, pausing to gaze at a pomegranate colored dress with a beaded strap going over one shoulder. "What was yours?"

Bellamy stopped chewing his gum long enough to dart his eyes back and forth, thinking. "I don't know," he gave up trying to remember. "There was an ocean involved." He watched her. "That's pretty. You like that one?"

"Yeah."

"Try it on," he said encouragingly, returning to his side of the rack. "I'll keep looking."

"You don't have to," Clarke said politely. His active role in dress shopping was cute, but Bellamy wasn't accurately grasping her style. Prior to the yellow and the sequins, he'd held up more hideous choices. He had gotten lucky once and shown her a really nice red one. The problem was that she couldn't fit in it; he'd quickly shoved it back onto the rack and moved to another cluster of dresses.

"I'm having so much fun though," he made a face at her and shifted through more hangers.

Clarke gathered three more dresses: a jade green halter one, a strapless red one, and a one shoulder black dress with white sides. Bellamy followed her to the dressing room and flopped down on one of the plush, red couches. He immediately broke his phone out and occupied himself with Pokemon Go. Clarke could hear the music reverberating from the confines of the dressing rooms.

In the privacy of the dressing room, Clarke stripped down, and reached for the first dress, the pomegranate one. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but stare. The hand extending towards the dress fell to her side as she analyzed the image. She was huge; her stomach looked like an overinflated beach ball, and there were still two months to go. Silently, she prayed she wouldn't gain anymore weight. Clarke had gotten lucky with stretch marks. There weren't that many because she'd slathered on lotions and cocoa butter at the appearance of the first discolored line.

 _This is not how I'm supposed to look right now_ , she thought.

Ripping her eyes from her reflection, she grabbed the dress and stepped into it. Slipping the beaded strap over her shoulder, she studied her reflection, and liked what she saw. It was beautiful. And tight. The dress was on, but there was no way the zipper would successfully go up the track. Biting her lip, she paused, stared a few more moments, and took it off. _That was bound to happen_ , she told herself. She grabbed the green one, and the same thing happened, but worse. It barely came up past her stomach. Kicking it off, she slipped the red on one. Since the zipper was on the side, she attempted to get it up herself. It rose halfway and then stopped. Sucking in her stomach, she tried again. Nothing changed.

"Bellamy!"

"What?" he hopped up.

"I need help."

"You want me to come in there?"

"Yes," she sighed. Opening the door for him, he slid inside and shut it, pocketing his phone in the process.

"What do you need?"

"Zip me," she gestured to the open zipper.

"Alright," he said casually, grabbing hold of it. Holding her breath, she sucked in with all her might and fought her natural need to inhale. She felt and heard the zipper move.

"Is it up?" she asked earnestly. Red was one of her favorite dress colors. If this one fit, she was prepared to dance around the changing area in front of the triple-mirror.

"Not quite. Hold on," Bellamy grunted.

Deflating, she turned back to the single mirror and watched Bellamy struggle to zip it up. Grinding her teeth, she knew it wasn't going to go up any further. The dress wasn't made for pregnant teens. "Forget it," she said darkly, staring down. She couldn't even see her feet.

"No, I almost got it," Bellamy huffed.

"No, you don't," she said crossly. "Just let go. I'll try on this last one."

"Last one?" he stepped back and planted his hands on his sides. "I haven't even seen the other two?"

"That's because they don't fit either," she said angrily, throwing hair over her shoulder.

"Well that's… the black and white one is my favorite anyway," he answered. Clarke recognized his attempt to make her feel better, but it wasn't working. He didn't have an unappealing reflection. He wasn't the one trying on dresses and feeling like a whale. All she wanted was the perfect Prom dress. That wasn't a gigantic request. The repeated rejections were just making her feel worse about herself. "I'll be outside." Bellamy quickly left the changing room, leaving Clarke to herself and her twin in the mirror.

Dejected, Clarke hung up that dress and thrust it to the back of the pile. Removing the black and white dress from the hanger, she stepped into it and pulled it up. Thrusting her left arm through the shoulder strap, she took note of the side zipper. Side-zippers had just become her mortal enemy. Already, she could barely breathe. But she was determined; all she wanted was one dress to fit properly. "Bellamy?"

"Okay!" he hurried back in. Smiling kindly at her, he began zipping. It made it three-fourths of the way before coming to an abrupt halt. Clarke's hope crashed and burned like the Hindenburg. "Wait… wait, wait, hold on."

"It's not gonna go," Clarke said quietly.

"No, no, I got it," he replied quickly. Pulling it back down to the bottom, he stared at her face in the mirror. "Maybe if you just…"

"I'm already sucking in!" she fired back. His hints were poorly disguised.

"I wasn't going to say that, but okay," he fell silent. "I guess you can keep doing that, though."

Holding her stomach, Clarke shut her eyes and did her best to stop breathing or moving or anything that would stop the zipper in its journey to the top. It got relatively high and Bellamy stopped. Clarke opened one eye; three-fourths of the way. Opening her other eye, Clarke dropped her hands from her stomach, and let her hands fall to her sides. "I'm too fat," she pressed her lips together and glared at the girl in the mirror. Tears slid down her face.

"No, this dress isn't even that pretty, Clarke," Bellamy rubbed her shoulders. "Come on. We can find some other ones."

"I'm too fat for all the dresses out there!" she shouted angrily, crying harder.

"Clarke, you're not fat," he wrapped his arms around her. She was overcome by the body spray he'd put on that morning. "You're pregnant."

"I'm so fat," she sobbed, face buried in his shoulder. She sank down to the floor in a pile of polyester and taffeta. Bellamy hugged her tighter and let her cry. "All I want is a dress. Just… a dress." Rationally, she knew she was being overly dramatic. Stupid hormones.

"I don't think you're fat, Clarke," he said calmly, stretching his legs out.

"You don't….un-understand," she hiccuped. "I hate this s-s-so much. I'm huge."

"Because you're carrying a baby," he reasoned. Clarke knew that to be true, but still didn't want to hear it. None of the dresses fit; that's what mattered. A year ago, fitting into a dress had been no problem. Hell, seven months ago, fitting into a dress had been no problem. This wasn't fair. Four dresses. Four dresses hadn't fit, and she'd chosen large sizes. "Don't cry, Clarke."

She couldn't dam her tears.

"Okay… okay," loosening his hold on her, he stood up and straightened his shirt. There was a noticeable wet stain on his right shoulder.

"Don't… l-leave."

"No. No, no, no," he held up his hands. "I saw a dress."

"I don't want to try on anything else," wiping her eyes, she struggled to control her breathing. "They don't have dresses for fat, pregnant girls."

"No, you'll love it," stepping around her, he grabbed the door handle. "Just - hold on. I'll be right back. You'll love it, I swear."

Sniffling, Clarke toyed with the hem of the dress and reconsidered her decision to finally go to Prom. What was the point? Dress shopping made it quite clear that it wasn't going to be the Prom she'd fantasized about for the last four years. She could barely fit into anything, she didn't have any friends, and she'd be lucky if she could stand on her feet the entire night. The entire thing had turned into a miserable nightmare.

"Can I come back in?" Bellamy's voice permeated her despair from the other side of the door.

"Yeah."

"Check it out," reappearing, he thrust a strapless pale blue dress out towards her. Upping his enthusiasm for her sake, he danced it around a bit. "You said Alice in Wonderland, right? You'll look like Alice in this thing."

"Bellamy, it's not gonna fit," she swiped beneath her eye with her fist. Clarke had experienced enough unhappiness for the day.

"Come on," he coaxed. "It's a mermaid dress. Everyone fits into mermaid dresses."

"How do you know that?'

"Project Runway," he repeated. Placing it at the front of the hanging pile, he offered his hands to help her off the floor. Clarke begrudgingly rose and stared at it. Wiping beneath her eyes again, she studied the material, the design, the way it flared out at the bottom. She definitely wouldn't have picked it, but… it did look kind of nice. "Try it on, and if it doesn't fit, you can punch me. Anywhere you want."

Clarke looked at him.

"Except here, of course," he gestured to his crotch. "I need this."

"Okay," she consented, tying her hair back.

Smiling at her, he left her alone. "Call me in when you're done."

 _There won't be any of that_ , she thought. She wasn't going to call Bellamy in to help her pull a zipper halfway up its track. Unclipping it from the hanger, she gazed at the pale color. It was a little light for Alice, but it was close. And the bottom of the dress was astounding, eye-catching. Bellamy had been right about the mermaid part. Sighing, she blinked and stepped into the bottom of it and slid it up, all the way to the top. Like the black and white dress, it was one shoulder. "Damn side zipper!" she hissed, glaring hatefully at it in the mirror. Shockingly, it fit nicely; Clarke had adequate breathing room. Biting her bottom lip, she studied her reflection. The dress was appropriately tight. Her stomach was obvious, but the image wasn't bad enough to evoke the tears again.

"How's it look?" Bellamy called in hopefully.

"Zipper," she said simply.

"Got it," he popped back in and started zipping. Clarke watched it go up one-fourth of the way, then halfway, then three-fourths. With sudden hope, she watched with bated breath as it kept going. _Please, please, please,_ she silently prayed. The zipper kept going, all the way to the top. Bellamy let go and stepped back.

"It fits," he said quietly.

"It fits!" she cheered. "It fits, it fits, its fits!"

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled and smiled widely at her. "See, I told you."

"It fits," she repeated, gazing at herself in the mirror. Glancing down, she still couldn't see her feet, but that was offset by the fact that they'd procured a Prom dress. Turning in a circle, she listened to the light whoosh of the material over the carpeted floor. Normally, her next thoughts would've moved onto what heels to buy.

"And who looks beautiful? You do!" he pointed ecstatically at her. "You want this one?"

"It fits, so yeah," she nodded blissfully. Bellamy wrapped his arms around, hugging her tightly.

"I can only hope to look half as good in my tux," he commented and kissed her cheek. Clarke reciprocated the sentiment and wrapped her arms around Bellamy, pressing her nose against his sternum, basking in the return of her Prom spirit. "All those girls are gonna be jealous."

"Of me?" Clarke questioned suspiciously.

"No, of me," Bellamy made a face before kissing the top of her head. "Yeah, you, Clarke." Courtesy of his gum, he smelled like spearmint.

Rocking in a circle, they slow-danced to what sounded like elevator music coming through the speakers.

* * *

 **As always, thanks for the reviews and all the follows and alerts. Makes my day.**


	11. Chapter 10

Clarke hustled to finish getting dressed for school. Even though Bellamy was on Spring Break, public school was still in session. In fact, her Spring Break wasn't for another month, the beginning of April. That meant she'd just be lounging around the frat house for seven straight days.

"Hold on," Bellamy motioned for her to slow down. "I gotta make sure your shoes match."

Clarke feigned annoyance and stopped moving. Secretly, she was thankful. Since her stomach blocked all southern visibility, she valued his actions. "Good?"

"Shouldn't you be wearing shoes that slip on?" he questioned, kneeling down to retie her left one.

"Maybe," she answered defiantly.

"Lucky for you, they do match," he commented, standing back up. "And I'm here, so you should always be thankful for that." Grabbing his keys from his desk, he flipped out the light and waved for her to follow him.

At school, Clarke slowly made her way through the bodies, backpacks, and noise. Her lower back burned and all she wanted to do was sit down. "A little less than three more months," she mumbled, breathing through her nose. After graduation, she'd never have to deal with another crowded hallway. All of it would've been a little more bearable had she been a little less pregnant. "A little less than two months…." Saying it aloud was actually quite frightening, but she pushed the fear aside and focused on her locker combination instead.

She had a semi-responsible guy in her life; a guy who made sure her shoes matched every single morning. That was enough.

"Clarke."

Jumping, she nearly dropped the government book in her hands. Turning to her left, she locked eyes with him, and almost jumped.

"What?" her voice barely came above a whisper. Tucking nervous strands of hair behind her ear, she breathed quickly to calm her heart. Finn just looked at her, backpack hanging casually over one shoulder.

He looked sort of like Bellamy, dark eyes and uncontrollable hair. But Bellamy was better. She wanted to tell Finn how stupid his hair looked, but the barb died in her throat. Shoving the book into the top compartment, she ran her hands over her purple cardigan. Why was he bothering her? "I don't… I don't want to talk to you, Finn."

"I know," he said quickly, as if he'd anticipated such a reaction.

"Bellamy told you to leave me alone," she said smartly, seizing her government book again. Shaking, she considered hitting him with it, right over the head. But something like that was sure to cause a scene, and assault was definitely against school rules. And she wouldn't be able to explain her motive to the principal or anyone else.

Clearing her thoughts, she thrust it into her backpack and slammed her locker shut. The sound rang down the hallway; loud enough to make more than a couple people turn around. She needed to swap more things, but fleeing was more imperative.

"Yeah, I know," he repeated. "I just…"

Instead of moving, Clarke remained rooted to the spot, frozen. She wanted to run, but she couldn't. She wanted to scream that she hated him, but she couldn't. His actions had immobilized her. Just like in that bedroom, she couldn't escape. _You were my friend_ , she thought. Tears welled up, but she fought to keep them down.

"Leave me alone, Finn," regaining feeling in her legs, she stalked around him.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

She froze again, arms wrapped around her stomach. Guys and girls walked around her, gossiping, laughing, screaming. She heard several other lockers slam shut. "You're sorry?" she turned around and walked back towards him. Stopping, she pressed her aching feet into the ground and left an arm's length of space between them. "You're sorry?"

"I know it's not enough," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're sorry?" she repeated, swallowing. It was getting harder to keep the tears back. Sorry? That was all he had for her? It'd been months, seven of them exactly, and that was all he had to say? They'd been friends since he and Octavia started dating three years ago and he expected 'sorry' to make everything better? He'd hurt her in a twisted, unimaginable way and _that_ was all he had to say for himself?

"Go to hell, Collins. Go and burn."

"Clarke, I know you hate me," he pleaded. "But… I know that's not-" he lowered his voice-"Bellamy's baby."

Grinding her teeth, she glared at him. Balling her fists at her side, she kept glowering at him. "Yes it is," she said darkly.

"Clarke." The repetition of her name was sickening. It didn't sound right coming out of his mouth. And she never wanted him saying her name again; he'd lost that right. "No it's not." His confidence angered her even more. They hadn't spoken in months and this was what he wanted their first conversation to be about?!

"Yes it is," she said through clenched teeth. "You want to know why, Finn?" He stared at her while anxiously running his fingers up and down the strap of his backpack. "Because Bellamy was the only one there for me after-"she lowered her voice to a threatening hiss-"you raped me!"

Tears snaked down her face. Finn gazed at her, mouth partially open. Clarke determined that they were done, so she stalked off, wiping tears from her face and trying to breathe evenly. She didn't want her homeroom teacher asking questions.

* * *

"What's the matter?" Bellamy questioned, looking up from one of his books.

"Nothing," Clarke pasted on a fake smile and twirled her pencil around. Bellamy ran his eyes over her face, trying to break through. Clarke knew his tactics well. She hadn't told him about her encounter with Finn. He'd already threatened his life. She didn't want him to do something crazy, like actually kill him. Glancing down at her homework, she considered the idea. Part of her wanted Finn dead, but she wanted Bellamy there with her more.

"No, there's something," he shut his book. "I offered you ice cream earlier and you said no."

"Is that your indicator of something being wrong?" she raised an eyebrow. "My response to your ice cream invitations?"

Bellamy shrugged and kept studying her. Rolling her eyes, she returned to her homework. "Pregnancy got you down?" he folded his hands behind his head and smirked. "Your hormones fucked up again?"

"No," she mumbled without looking at him.

"Alright," rising from his chair, he whipped his shirt off. "Touch 'em."

"What?" she looked up.

"My abs," he gestured to his stomach. "It'll make you feel better."

"Bell, no," shaking her head, she sighed and tried to focus.

"What do you mean?" he sounded offended. Grabbing his shirt, he held it in front of his chest. "Do you know how many girls would kill for that offer?"

"Yeah, eleven," Clarke said shortly, tying her hair up. Bellamy's smile flickered. Tugging his shirt back over his head, he ruffled his hair, and stared at her like an eagle over a fish.

"You're being sarcastic," he said plainly. "And along with your ice cream rejection, I will take that to mean you're upset."

"I'm fine, Bellamy."

"Clarke, what's the matter?" sniffing, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Tapping her eraser furiously against the metal rings of her binder, she stared at the blue lines of her notebook paper until they blurred. "Finn talked to me today."

All traces of Bellamy's smile faded. "I'm gonna fucking kill him." Hopping up, he began angrily pacing while clenching and unclenching his fists. "What the hell did he say?"

"He said he was sorry."

"He said he was sorry!" Bellamy exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "Oh, okay. Finn's sorry, so all's forgiven. I see, I see." His strides shortened. "Finn's fucking sorry so everything is okay now, isn't it?!"

"Bellamy," Clarke said quietly.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Bellamy said a little loudly. "I fucking… ugh, I warned him!" His face reddened.

"Bellamy, no!" Clarke pleaded. "Please? Please don't say anything. It wasn't that big of a deal."

"What? You want to talk to him now?" Bellamy stopped short and glared at her. "After what he did to you?"

"No," she shook her head quickly and set her pencil down. "I just don't want to cause any more drama. And I can't have you in jail for doing something stupid because of me."

"He started this shit, not you," Bellamy contradicted angrily. "This is not your fault, Clarke."

"Please, just calm down," Clarke gripped his forearms. He visibly deflated beneath her touch.

Lowering his eyes to the carpet, he took a few deep breaths before looking at her again. "Fine," he consented, flopping back down into his computer chair. "Fine. I'm calm. Look, I'm reading." He shook his book at her. "I am calm and… reading my macroeconomics book."

From Clarke's perspective, he didn't look calm at all. But she didn't want to say anything else, for fear he'd flip out again. Shooting him a fleeting look, she returned to her textbook.

* * *

Bellamy allowed hours to pass. He knew that stalking from their room to Finn's house would only upset Clarke, so he built a relaxed façade. Then, like a vicious, bloodthirsty predator, he waited.

He actually read his macroeconomics textbook, for a while, but images of pounding Finn's face in distracted him. He'd warned that asshole; he'd been ridiculously clear. What was so difficult about not speaking to Clarke? They wanted nothing to do with him. In a few years, they wouldn't even have to see his face because they'd have their own place.

"I'm hungry," Bellamy shut his book and smiled serenely. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," Clarke didn't even look up from her book.

 _Perfect_ , Bellamy mused. Tossing his book to the side, he walked calmly from the room. Sliding around the doorway, he leaned against the wall and waited, checking to see if Clarke had her own agenda in mind.

Five minutes ticked by, and she didn't appear. _Even more perfect_ , he thought.

Peeling away from the wall, he stalked outside down the driveway and into his truck. The drive would've usually taken fifteen minutes, but he managed it in seven. Finn, as if he was psychic, sat on the porch smoking a cigarette, almost as if he was waiting for him to show him.

"Look, asshole," he slammed his truck door behind him and stalked up the driveway. "Clarke doesn't want me threatening your life again, so I won't," Bellamy began rudely. There was no room for niceties between them. "But I will point out that I told you to leave her alone."

"I just talked to her, man," Finn answered, extinguishing the cigarette on the sidewalk before Bellamy shoved it down his throat. "I-"

"Leaving her alone means not talking to her!" Bellamy snapped, cutting him off. "What part of that didn't you understand while I was choking you?"

"I needed to tell her I was sorry," he replied, jaw set. Bellamy didn't like the way he was looking at him. Finn was glaring at him like _he_ was the bad guy, like he was the one who'd done something wrong.

"Oh, you're sorry?!" Bellamy hissed, thrusting his hands behind his back. Struggling to breathe normally, he resisted the urge to stalk across the space he set between them and punch him in the face. If he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Clarke didn't want him hurting Finn again. "You're fucking sorry?! That's good to hear, Collins. But, unfortunately, 'sorry' isn't going to fix anything."

"I know, Bellamy. I just-"

"Stay the hell away from my girlfriend," Bellamy's eyes radiated disgust and anger. Turning around, he wrapped his hand around the trucks door handle. Their 'chat' had been mildly satisfactory. Violence hadn't even been involved; Clarke would be pleased.

"She wasn't even your girlfriend first."

Air caught in Bellamy's throat. What the hell did that mean? Was he telling the truth? No. No, no, no… he'd seen Clarke and their little gang of friends hanging around his house enough over the years to know that couldn't be true. He knew Clarke; she wouldn't do that to Octavia, sneak around with her boyfriend behind her back.

Plus, Clarke had said, on several occasions that she'd never had a boyfriend before. Clarke was too good for the both of them, but she was definitely too good for Finn. Releasing the handle, he whirled around and stared angrily in his direction. Finn looked just as pissed for no good reason. "Clarke was never your girlfriend, idiot," he challenged.

"What do you know, man?"

"She was _never_ your girlfriend!" Bellamy fired back, seething. "She was your friend, Octavia's friend, and _you_ hurt her!" Bellamy was doing his best to contain himself, but just looking at Finn was enough to send his testosterone levels sky-high. "The only reason I haven't choked the shit out of you right now is because it would upset Clarke."

"Bellamy," Finn said menacingly.

"Stay. Away. From her," Bellamy enunciated. "In a few years, we won't even be here, and you'll be lucky if we allow you to have contact with our son. Ultimately, it's up to Clarke. But as far as I'm concerned, if I ever see you again, I won't hold back."

* * *

"Prom, bro?" someone questioned.

Bellamy relaxed in the lounge with some of his friends, sipping beer and taking their digs. Smiling at their comments, he glanced over the baby stuff piled in the corner. Seeing it reminded him that he needed to send his mom a list of things they still needed. "She asked me to go with her, guys."

"But Prom?" another guy wrinkled his forehead and guzzled a huge mouthful from his bottle.

"It's just like our formals," Bellamy stole Clarke's reasoning.

"Yeah, but our formals have alcohol," Jasper commented. Bellamy tipped his bottle in Jasper's direction. That was a very valid point.

"She really wants to go," he answered. "I'm only going to make her happy."

Cries rang up from the guys.

"What?" Bellamy questioned once they quieted down.

"You're so whipped, man," one of the juniors smirked at him.

"Hey," Bellamy held up a finger. "Whipped? I am not whipped."

"You're so whipped," one of the seniors sided with him. "So whipped, man. Do you remember your freshman year? You were one of the craziest partiers this house has ever seen; you were banging girls every other night. Hell, you were banging that Gina girl on a pretty regular basis for the longest time. Now you're on boyfriend duty."

"Gina's hot," someone commented. Murmured agreement drifted around the room. Wordlessly, Bellamy agreed.

"So is Clarke," Bellamy answered, sipping more of his beer. He should've been studying, but he reasoned that he'd spent enough time poring over his textbooks. And even though it was roughly noon, he wanted to drink. Obviously he wouldn't have more than one watery beer because he had to pick up Clarke from school later, but he wanted to get a nice warm feeling sloshing around in his stomach.

"That's true," they agreed.

"Okay," Bellamy spread his arms wide and made a face. Everything was better. Even pregnant, Clarke was still one of the hottest girls he'd ever seen.

"If she tells you to jump, do you ask how high?" Miller questioned. Everyone snorted and laughed, including Bellamy, who almost spit out his beer.

"I'm a boyfriend now," he played along. "I'm still a fucking legend in this house. But now I have to be legendary at something else."

"Aww!" His friends elbowed him and loudly mocked him.

"Okay, okay!" Bellamy shoved them back and held his hands up. "That did sound a little…" Laughing, he finished off his bottle and set it on one of the end tables. "How was Spring Break? Stop busting my balls and tell me about Panama City for a bit."

"So. Many. Girls," one of the guys commented, reclining against the sofa. "There was this really sweet wet t-shirt contest. God, you would've loved it."

"Sounds fun," Bellamy spoke through a bit of jealousy. Spending time with Clarke had been great. But a wet t-shirt contest? Great ones didn't happen every day.

"I went deep," someone else recounted. "So many times…"

"There were these insane parties…."

"We boat raced against another chapter in Florida!"

"Miller had a threesome!" someone shouted.

"Shut up!" Miller glared at him.

"What? You don't want me to know?" Bellamy made a face. Miller's reaction had been the attention-getter, not the announcement. That was the annoying part about missing out on house-trips. Everyone else had experiences, memories, and embarrassing stories; he could only hear about them now instead of witnessing them firsthand. Bellamy was out of the loop.

"No, it's not that," Miller replied. Whipping back to the guy who'd announced it, he gave him a look that said 'shut the hell up'. "I just thought we all agreed to not speak of it."

"Why?" Bellamy glanced around the suddenly silent group. Half of them were stifling laughter. Obviously it was funny, to everyone but Miller. Which meant that the story was awesome.

"No reason," Miller shook his head indifferently. "So how was your-"

"No," making a face, Bellamy stopped him. He wanted to know too. The story was obviously embarrassing. And if the entire house already knew, it wasn't fair for Bellamy to be in the dark. Plus, they were best friends. Regardless of how shameful the story, Miller was obligated to tell him so Bellamy could laugh and judge. "What is so special about this threesome that you don't want me to know?" One of the guys wiped tears from his face while struggling not to laugh aloud. "I want to laugh."

"No," Miller shook his head again. "No, you don't."

"One of them was a guy!" the same guy who'd announced it revealed the secret.

"Fuck you!" Miller shouted. "We agreed not to say anything!"

"You had sex with a guy?" Eyes wide, he gaped at his best friend.

"I did not have sex with him!" Miller shouted over the din.

"How the hell did you not know he was a dude?" Bellamy yelled loudly.

"He-I don't know!" Miller sank back into his seat and raked fingers through his scalp. Pausing, he struggled to collect himself and provide a suitable answer. "I met them on the beach, late at night, right after this party. I was kinda drunk and we somehow ended up back in my room. Stuff started happening and we got naked and more stuff started happening…"

"He doesn't realize he's slept with a dude until the next morning," Murphy jumped in, laughing hysterically.

"I did not have sex with him." Miller repeated firmly. Pressing his lips together, Bellamy shot him a skeptical look. To each his own.

"Did you kiss him?" Jasper asked.

"I didn't have sex with him," Miller replied, shrugging and leaning back in the recliner. More jeers, laughs, and comments erupted. "Screw you guys! Talk about something else. Better yet, let's go back to Bellamy and Prom."

"It won't be so bad," Bellamy said knowingly, giving Miller a reprieve. His Prom wasn't the greatest night of his life, as falsely advertised by his high school staff, but it'd been fun. "You guys should think about coming. There'll be plenty of age appropriate girls down to have some fun, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Murphy cleared his throat and gradually stopped laughing. "I think you're the house example of why we shouldn't have 'fun' with high school girls anymore."

"Suit yourselves," Bellamy shrugged and stretched. "While you guys are studying for finals, I will be dancing in an Alice in Wonderland themed hotel ballroom." As much as he groaned and complained about the night to Clarke, he was kind of excited. He liked Alice in Wonderland, both the Johnny Depp style and the hand-drawn one. Plus, half of Prom was seeing how the decorations looked.

"I'm pretty sure Alice is the theme at that gay bar on Rochester Avenue this weekend," Miller supplied.

"You tell me. I'm not the one having sex with guys," Bellamy stood up to actually go study. Laughs, jokes, and comments flew from everyone in the room. Bellamy half-saluted over his shoulder.

"I did not have sex with him!" Miller protested.

* * *

Clarke felt the slow, steady thud of Bellamy's heart against her upper thigh as he rested his head on her mountain of an abdomen and lay cradled between her legs. He lounged in silence, moving his ear around until he found a suitable spot. _It's okay_ , she told herself. Bellamy never tried anything, but his close proximity brought back memories. Clarke shivered.

"What?" Bellamy started.

"Nothing," she said quickly, coming back to reality.

"I can get off," lifting his head, his brown eyes searched her face.

"No," stopping herself, Clarke continued staring at the ceiling. "It's not you."

"Clarke, I'll move," he sat up fully.

"No," shaking her head, she motioned for him to stop moving. Where he was sitting with one hand on her thigh and his body resting between her legs was awfully intimate, and she didn't know whether it was butterflies or Tristan fluttering in her stomach.

Clarke was impressed by his perceptiveness, though. "It's like your hugging him."

His lips slowly curved into a smile. Relaxing, he replaced his head. The peaceful silence of the room filtered back in. A light wind danced into the room. "What do you think it's going to be like?" Bellamy asked.

"What?"

"This whole parenthood thing," he moved his head again.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. She knew it wasn't going to be smooth sailing. A screaming baby came to mind. Inhaling, she considered all the possibilities. Out of all of them, she just didn't want it to be a catastrophic event. Hopefully, it wouldn't be because Bellamy's mom had supposedly turned over a new leaf and stopped hating her. According to Bellamy, she planned on helping them with Tristan for the first few weeks before letting them loose as actual parents. "Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No," he shook his head. "Have you?"

"No."

"Shit," he groaned a little. "We're screwed."

Clarke couldn't counter that. It accurately summed up her feelings. "How does it feel to be a father at nineteen?"

"Father at nineteen?" he echoed. "I'm pretty sure this is every guy's worst nightmare." Again, Clarke found herself speechless. Bellamy was on a roll with the insightful statements. "And if I was with some other girl - say, Gina - this would literally be hell. But, since I'm with you, it's not so bad."

Clarke smiled a bit.

Pregnancy and parenthood were two different ends of the spectrum though, two drastically different stages. They were in the home stretch of the whole pregnancy ordeal. In approximately two months, a tiny human being would be constantly relying on them for feeding, changing, bathing; life wasn't going to be so easy anymore. Her due date, although frightening, was nicely placed. Perfect, was actually a better word.

Going into labor in mid-May meant that she would have Tristan and then spend a little less than a month in school before graduating. Her freshman year a junior started the school year four or five months pregnant. Clarke distinctly remembered her fourteen year old self staring at the girl, wide-eyed, wondering how she could've been so careless. She had no right to judge her, especially since everyone had a story.

"If you leave," she licked her bottom lip. "I understand."

"Whoa," sliding up, he pressed his chin into her stomach and stared at her, confused. "Who said anything about leaving?"

"No one," Clarke sighed. "I just… technically, we're teen parents. Statistically, situations like ours don't play out very well. Yeah, we're fine now. We're happy, we go out for ice cream, we watch movies together. Two, three, maybe four months down the road? Could be a whole different story, Bellamy. You'll start hanging out later and later. My small requests to… I don't know, feed or change Tristan will start pissing you off. You'll start hanging out with girls your own age, maybe older, girls without babies keeping them up at night." Clarke had seen enough MTV to know the variety of outcomes. Nine times out of ten, the relationships deteriorated. "You might even end up hating me."

"Get your hormones together, Clarke," he shook his head. "They're causing you to be overly dramatic."

"Bellamy, I'm serious," she said stubbornly. Every single day that went past brought them closer to a hospital and stirrups. Everything was going to change.

"I'm serious," he laughed and rubbed his forehead lightly across her stomach. "Hating you? You're too good for me to hate."

"Bellamy." His name came out sternly. His compliments were normally appreciated, but they were detracting from the seriousness of the conversation.

"What?" he asked innocently. "You're talking crazy, and I've already dealt with one of those this year, so…" Clarke sighed with exasperation. "I promised you that I'm not going anywhere, ever. I meant that. I'm going to be here for you and him, always."

"Everything's going to be different," she pressed. How did he not understand the gravity of their condition?

"Look," losing the smile, he locked eyes with her. "Kids need dads, Clarke; take it from me. I know firsthand what it's like to have a shitty one, alright? And… and you've kinda lost yours. We're both dad-less. The same thing will not happen to ours, not Tristan, swear on my life. And-" sitting up, he sighed and ran his hand over his head- "if I ever say something to contradict what I'm telling you now, you have permission to hit me. Right here." He pointed to his groin. "As hard as you want, 'cause obviously I don't deserve to have any more kids."

Clarke briefly turned her head to stare at his desk, at his backpack on the floor. She turned back to Bellamy's raised eyebrows with a smile. She couldn't hate such a passionate answer. Clearly, their discussion was only headed in one direction. Only time would tell where Bellamy would end up. He'd argued with such conviction that it was almost moving. He took her smile as acceptance of his intentions.

"Can I touch your stomach?"

"Yeah," she consented.

"Under the shirt?" he raised his eyebrows even higher. He curled his fingers into fists in anticipation.

"Uh…yeah," she agreed.

Rolling her shirt up, he planted his bare palms, which were shockingly cold, onto her uncovered stomach; it took some time before his hands acclimated. Leaning down, he ran his tongue over about an inch of skin.

"Bellamy, what are you doing?"

"What?" he looked up.

"That's weird," she wrinkled her nose and smacked at his hands when he went to do it again. "What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to see if you taste as good as you feel," he reasoned, shrugging. Dodging one of her well-aimed slaps, he licked another spot, a smaller one. "And yeah, you do."

"That's gross," she hissed. "Stop."

"I'm doing it because I lo-" pausing, he hovered over her, smirking.

"What?" What was he not saying? Clarke felt her blood pressure skyrocket. He was not going to tell her he loved her. That-no. _No_. Absolutely not. Now was not the time. The distant future wasn't a good time either. And if that was his admission, he'd certainly chosen a weird way to show it.

Feigning laughter, he flopped down beside her, and registered her silence as confirmation. "You will be relieved to know that I don't love you, Clarke." Elbowing her, he planted a kiss on her cheek before rolling on his side to face the wall. "I do like you a lot though, so."

"You're ridiculous, Bell," shaking her head, Clarke readjusted to allow him more room.

"That's why you keep me around," he muttered, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her under his arm. Clarke felt strangely at ease. "Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"I think about you when I masturbate."

"Bellamy!" Clarke smacked him lightly in the ribs with her free hand and tried to mask the flush creeping up on her face.

"You and Gillian Anderson," he revealed, moving around once more. With considerable effort, he rolled over and looked at her, lips twitching to conceal a smile. "Sometimes together, but not always. And if that's not love, I don't know what is."

Clarke grimaced; Bellamy laughed and buried his face in her neck.

"God, you smell so good," he inhaled deeply and continued laughing. Calming down, he wrapped a heavy arm around her. "I'll leave you alone now, Clarke. You're free to go to sleep. My apologies if I offended you."

"No." It wasn't offensive. Just shocking. Tiny breaths snaked from his mouth across her neck. She could still feel the impression of his hands on her stomach. The spots where his tongue had been tingled.

She didn't plan on openly admitting it to him, but… she liked it.

* * *

 **I hope no one was offended by anything in this chapter.**

 **Thank you for all the comments, as usual! You guys rock. I resolved that this fic will have twelve chapters, so there's two more left to doll out over the next week and a half or so (since I usually add an update every 4-5 days).**


	12. Chapter 11

Bellamy popped another piece of gum in his mouth as he paced back and forth in the lounge. His black jacket lay lifelessly over the back of the couch as he strolled around clutching Clarke's corsage. It was some blue flower he couldn't remember the name of. The point was, it matched her dress. If she was going to get pissed at him sometime during the night, it wouldn't be because her corsage was the wrong color.

His mom drove an hour to act as Clarke's personal stylist. Upon arriving, she promptly kicked him out of their room. He hadn't even been dressed. And he could only imagine what they were upstairs doing. For the past hour and a half, he'd been relatively alone on the first floor of the house. After getting dressed in the downstairs bathroom, he retired to the lounge.

The sound of plastic crinkling attracted his attention. Looking down, he noted the dent his thumb had made. Glancing around, he made sure no one was around to see. Deciding it was safer for the corsage if it was out of his hands, he set it on one of the end tables. Exhaling a breath of minty freshness, he swiped a hand over his curly hair. It was nice and dark outside. Prom started at eight-thirty and ended at eleven-thirty. Humming to himself, he checked the collar of his white shirt.

"Oh shit!" Miller whistled. Bellamy whirled around to see half the house, gawking and wolf-whistling at him.

"Shut up, Miller," rolling his eyes, Bellamy glowered at the ground.

"Look at you in your little blue vest," Jasper stalked over and ran a hand over it. "What color would you say this is?"

"The hell if I know," Bellamy shrugged and shoved his hand off. "It matches Clarke's dress. I don't know if it has a name."

"You don't even get this dressed up for our formals," Murphy commented.

"It's Prom," Bellamy reasoned. "And she's my girlfriend. She wanted me to look nice, so."

"Whipped!" everyone chanted.

"Shut the hell up!" hissing, he flapped his hands for them to be quiet. "My mom is here!" the guys snorted and continued making fun of his appearance. "And you all went to Prom! We all dress the same, excluding the vest and the shirt. And maybe the tux itself if you're feeling creative."

"You know what everyone does Prom night, right?"

Bellamy's eyes darted back and forth. "Uh… gets drunk?" That's what he'd done.

"And?"

"I don't know," Bellamy ran his hands self-consciously over his vest again. He didn't plan on admitting it them, but he liked it. It wasn't the best blue, but he could've been sporting a worse color, like purple. Just the thought made him grimace.

"They get laid," biting his bottom lip, one of the seniors raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Well," Bellamy grabbed his jacket and shoved his arms into the sleeves. They had to leave soon. Unlike Clarke's classmates, she lived an hour away from their city, not to mention the hotel, which was located somewhere near the beach. They needed hit the road soon. He hadn't planned on spending his Saturday night at Prom ever again. "I am not getting drunk or laid tonight, fellas."

"You're not?" Murphy sounded skeptical. "You're the slut of the house, Bellamy."

"First of all, I take offense to that. I'm not a slut; I'm a classy whore at best. And she's eight months pregnant, almost nine," Bellamy pointed out, tracing his eyes over the assembled group. He stood in silent jealously of their pajama pants and t-shirts.

"Not even a handie?" one of the guys inquired, leaning in the doorway.

"What-no," Bellamy made a face and glanced over their heads to make sure Clarke wasn't somewhere posted in the background. Or his mom. That would be a terribly awkward conversation. A handjob did sound nice at this rate, though; his hands were getting boring. "Maybe. We'll see how the night goes." He didn't think it would happen, though; he just wanted them to shut up.

"That's our Bellamy!" He received several high-fives.

"Bellamy."

"Mom!" straightening up, he glanced around nervously, hoping she hadn't heard any of that. Following his lead, all the other guys, cleared their throats and put on their innocent masks.

"Hi, Bellamy's mom."

"Hi, boys," she said slowly, eyes roaming over them, no doubt scrutinizing their appearance. "Bellamy."

"Yes?"

"Clarke's ready, should be down soon," she smiled. Stalking over, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder and then began violently straightening Bellamy's collar.

"Ow, Mom!" jerking forward, he glimpsed his frat brothers pressing fists to their mouths to block laughter. Glaring at them, he returned his attention to his assault. "Mom, stop. It's fine."

"Yeah, because I fixed it," stepping back, she eyed her handiwork. Tsking, she shook her head, but kept her hands to herself. "It's nice to see you in something other than jeans and t-shirts, too."

"Thanks, Mom," he ran his hands over the front of his jacket and reached for the corsage.

"You be good tonight," she warned. "Better than you were for your own Prom."

"I was fine, Mom," he rolled his eyes. They were still behaving like children, pointing and laughing at him. Bellamy could only imagine the he'll he'd endure over the next few days, maybe even weeks. She made her I-know-better-than-that face. "Mom…"

"Alright, alright," holding up her hands, she gave up. "I'll see you soon."

As she turned, the guys shot up as if they'd had metal rods inserted into their backs.

"Bye, Mom," Bellamy ushered her off.

"Have a nice night, boys," she waved.

"Bye, Bellamy's mom!" They chorused.

Shooting him one last smile, she disappeared out the front door and down the steps. Murphy shut the door behind her.

"What is taking her so long?" Bellamy dug his phone from his pocket.

"You know we're going to make fun of you for weeks for this, right?" Miller questioned, draping his arm around Bellamy's shoulders.

"Yeah," Bellamy mumbled. A creak at the top of the steps sent his neck shooting in that direction. He almost gave himself whiplash.

Clarke slowly proceeded down the stairs, causing all the guys to fall silent. All the jokes, the comments, the snide remarks disappeared as she descended. Bellamy's eyes rose from the bottom of her light blue mermaid dress to her stomach, then her shoulders, and then her hair. It was down as usual, but her normally slightly wavy curls were thicker curled, making her dark lidded eyes pop. He blinked just so his eyes wouldn't dry out, and then continued to shamelessly stare. As her foot cleared the last stair, Clarke took a deep breath, and smiled.

"Well?" she spread her arms, modeling the dress further.

"Oh shit," Miller muttered, dropping his arm from Bellamy's shoulders.

"What?" Clarke looked alarmed.

"Goddamn!" Miller answered.

"Miller!" Bellamy shoved his elbow into his ribs.

"Is that good?" Clarke searched the crowd for some sort of elaboration.

"You look amazing, Clarke," Jasper spoke up. "If Maya was here, she'd say you look cute." Clarke beamed.

"I… corsage," Bellamy shook the box dumbly.

"Oh, wow," Clarke stared down at it. Grinning, she thrust her arm out. "You don't have one though."

"The ones for guys are stupid anyway," Bellamy regained his ability to form complete sentences. Opening the box, he tossed the plastic coffin to one of the guys, and slid it onto her wrist.

"Pictures!" Monty shouted from the back.

"We don't need-"

"We have to document this beautiful moment!" Jasper argued, glaring wickedly at Bellamy.

"We're already late!" Bellamy shot him a look that told him to shut up. "We'll take pictures there and bring them back if you guys are that interested."

"That's not the same as Prom pictures in the A.C.E house," Miller nodded in agreement with Jasper. "When will we ever have this same opportunity?"

"I sincerely doubt that anyone would want their Prom pictures taken here," Bellamy countered. A frat house was not prime locale for a Prom shoot. "Come on, Clarke."

"But your friends really want to take pictures," she stopped him just by standing in place. "Maybe we should."

"Yeah, maybe you should," Jasper nodded, smiling. Setting his jaw, Bellamy released his grip on the door.

"Fine. Make it quick," rolling his eyes, he stood next to Clarke and placed his hands on her waist. Miller broke out his phone.

"Smile!" he said enthusiastically.

"I hate all of you," Bellamy said through his smile.

"We'll have these printed and hung up in no time," Miller answered, taking three more. Each time, Bellamy was nearly blinded by the flash.

"Bellamy, that's great!" Clarke buzzed. "Now we don't have to buy any."

"Yeah, Bellamy. It's great," Miller snapped another shot.

"Screw you, Miller." Bellamy hissed through a smile. His face was starting to hurt.

"Bellamy!" Clarke snapped.

"Sorry," he apologized.

"I think I have enough," Miller nodded, handing his phone to Jasper, who masked a laugh with a cough. He promptly passed the phone over his shoulder so everyone else could get a good look. "You kids have a nice, safe night."

Holding the door open for Clarke, Bellamy mouthed 'I hate you' at his best friend.

"Bellamy, I don't need help." Clarke protested as Bellamy jogged around to assist her from the passenger seat of his truck.

"Clarke," ignoring her, he grabbed her hands and helped her anyways. "Pride is a sin."

"Says the guy who takes off his shirt every chance he gets," she countered, snatching her bag from the dash.

"It's a crime to keep these hidden!" he shoved his keys into his pocket. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed his nose into her hair, and walked her down the sidewalk. "Like now? I'm pretty sure I'm violating a few laws."

"They're not that great," she countered, pushing him away some.

"Excuse me?" Bellamy stopped walking.

A few feet ahead, Clarke turned around. Sighing, she folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Seriously, Bellamy?"

"My abs aren't that great?" he repeated, wrinkling his forehead in mock confusion. "I don't… I don't understand why you would say something like that."

"Bell, come on." As other couples walked past, she motioned for him to rejoin her.

"No," he refused. She'd wasted time taking Prom pictures that they guys would later use to mock him. A few more minutes wouldn't kill her. "I'm trying to wrap my head around why you would say something so hurtful." He pretended to tear up.

"Bellamy!" she hissed, flapping her arm.

"Do you know how hard I've worked to get these?" he pointed at his abdomen.

Clarke smiled at another couple walking past. Bellamy scanned his eyes over them, noted how ugly the girl's purple dress was, and returned to his situation. Pressing her lips together, Clarke tucked her tiny bag beneath her arm, and stalked back over to him. "I've seen better abs on a Hollister model," she said smartly, planting one hand on her lower back. Her green eyes sparkled more than normal because of her make-up.

"You take that back," Bellamy said slowly.

"You-" she struck him with her tiny, blue bag- "get your ass into Prom right now!" Clarke had never sworn at him before.

"You apologize," cocking his head to the side, he folded his arms and held his ground. "That was uncalled for."

"I'm not apologizing," she hit him again.

"Then I guess I'm not going to Prom," he determined, whistling with his hands in his pockets. "Which is such a shame, because I look really fucking good tonight."

"Bellamy."

"Say you're sorry," he worked to conceal a smirk.

Scoffing, Clarke rolled her eyes. Setting her jaw, she lowered her sparkling eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Say my abs are the best you've ever seen," he negotiated.

"Your abs are the best I've ever seen," she said unenthusiastically. Her voice reminded him of a robot; Bellamy just wanted to hear her say it, because messing with her was fun. "Come on." She grabbed his hand. He still didn't budge.

"Say that you'd lick a variety of ice cream toppings off them."

"No way," wrinkling her nose, she dropped his hand. "I'm not gonna say that."

"Fine," he allowed her to drag him down the sidewalk. He'd known before saying it that that one was hit-or-miss. "I could've worked at Hollister, you know. They turned me down because they said my abs might intimidate some of the customers, affect sales and whatnot."

"You just made that up," she pulled him into the slow-moving line.

"Maybe," wrapping his arms around her so she could rest her back against his chest, he inhaled her perfume. "While we're on the topic of amazing things, I haven't told you how great you look tonight."

"Thank you."

"You look great all the time, but tonight especially," he complimented, swaying a little back and forth. Bellamy enjoyed the weight of Clarke against him; in some way it made him feel important. The line moved up a few inches. He could see inside the bright lobby of the hotel. Rolling his gum around his mouth, he looked over some kids' heads at the table where they were checking invitations and ID cards.

When it was their turn, Clarke handed over the identification and the invitation. The woman manning it gave them both a strange look before handing them back. Bellamy smiled widely and steered Clarke towards the ballroom mentioned on the white, embossed invite. As they approached, Bellamy felt the music wash over his body. Like a gentleman, he held the door open for her, and then followed her inside.

"Holy shit," he bumped into Clarke, who was standing with her arms crossed in front of her stomach, gazing around the room. Bellamy's comment extended to accidentally running into her and to the scene before them. They'd wandered right into the White Queen's court. Couples were already dancing in the circular-shaped dance floor surrounded by a short, white fence that was about waist-high. The shimmering, white tiles reminded him of sunlight bouncing off a fresh snowfall.

Behind the dance floor, a sort of castle had been erected, and the DJ stood in the center, mixing songs. Keeping with the theme, his entire ensemble was also colorless. Situated around the dance floor were fake white trees with thin branches and bright, white lights wrapped around them. They gave the room a creepy, yet inviting, glow.

Bellamy's brown eyes drifted from the icy scene to the tables dotting the room. Draped with white tablecloths, most were already occupied by either people or articles of clothing. Spotting a vacant one, he steered Clarke towards it.

"It's so pretty." She grabbed his hand.

"Yeah," he nodded, keeping his exhilaration in check. "It's cool, I guess."

"I'm sorry," she turned around. "What was your Prom theme?"

"Alright. It's really nice," rolling his eyes, he held her bag while she eased down into a chair. "Don't lord it over me, but I'm actually impressed."

Raising an eyebrow, she propped her chin in her hand and watched more of her classmates come in, smiling. Twisting around in his chair, Bellamy copied her. Now he could see the artificial arch, probably made from the same material as the castle, spanning the doorway. He hadn't noticed it while walking in, and there wasn't one on the other side. The DJ started playing a loud, upbeat dance song. More people abandoned their tables in favor of the dance floor. Discretely, Bellamy checked his phone; it was only nine. There were still two and a half hours left.

"I'm hungry. Is there food?" he searched.

"Bellamy," losing the smile, she stared at him.

"What? They're supposed to have food at these things," he pointed out. His stomach grumbled at that exact moment. "At the least, there's supposed to be an ice sculpture."

"There's one of the Cheshire cat over there," she pointed across the room. Angling his head around a group, he saw it. Its famous grin stared back at him.

"There's probably food there," setting her bag on the table, he straightened his jacket. "You want anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "I doubt there's anything here pregnancy appropriate."

"Good point," he agreed. "I'll be right back." She waved him off. Stalking across the room, Bellamy gazed over the paper plates situated on some of the tables. He wanted some idea of the food items before actually getting over there. Cookie halves, strawberries tops, and shrimp tails occupied half of them. That wasn't bad.

He enjoyed cookies and strawberries, and he'd been known to destroy cocktail shrimp, especially if it was free. He noticed more tiny bags thrown haphazardly across tables and chair backings around the room in different colors. Bellamy also noticed, after nearly tripping on a pair, all the high heels scattered across the floor and underneath tables. Shaking his head, he refocused on his goal. What was the point of putting on shoes that were gonna come off within the hour?

Reaching the ice sculpture, his eyes widened at the sight. The Cheshire cat was sitting in a pool of shrimp. "Hell yes," he murmured, grabbing a plate. Bobbing his head to whatever song coming from the castle, he piled his plate high. Pausing, he looked at his seafood mountain.

Tapping his foot, he briefly considered how it would look to other people. _It's free shrimp though_ , he reasoned. Still in limbo, he imagined Clarke's face; _she'd probably make fun of me_ , he thought next. Nonchalantly, he sliced the mountain in half. The shrimp fell back onto the ice with soft plops.

"Hi."

"Shit!" Bellamy jumped and nearly lost the other half of his shrimp. Doing his utmost to look innocent, he glanced over to his right.

"Relax," the redheaded girl laughed. "I won't tell."

Relaxing as requested, Bellamy ran his eyes over the girl. Her hair was swept over one shoulder and curled at the end, and Bellamy couldn't help but notice her green eyes. Green eyes reminded him of one girl he'd rather forget. Smiling broadly, she showed off her dazzlingly white teeth.

Lowering his eyes, Bellamy examined her dress, which was no longer than the average bath towel. It was some orange color that reminded him of leaves in fall. Dropping his eyes lower, he also noted her lack of footwear. Without heels, she could almost look him in the eye. It was probably a good thing that she was barefoot. "Um," he fought for something to say. "Do I…?"

"No," she smiled again. This time, Bellamy noticed the dimple that formed in her left cheek. "I've seen you around." Bellamy smiled back kindly. He had no idea who the girl was. "You don't go here though, right?"

"No," balancing his plate, he shook his head. "I'm a sophomore in college."

"Nice," nodding her head, she kept grinning. "College boy." Biting her bottom lip, she planted a hand on her hip and surveyed him. "You look like you're in a frat, too."

"I am," laughing a bit, Bellamy agreed. "Ark Chi Epsilon."

"Nice," she repeated just as passionately. Inhaling deeply, Bellamy instantly remembered that he was supposed to be 'right back'. And he was only supposed to be at the ice sculpture getting food, not talking to a girl. Swallowing, he seized another plate and scooped some strawberries on it. Fresh fruit might appease Clarke.

"We should dance."

"Oh, uh," clearing his throat, he straightened up and glanced around. "I'm here, with my girlfriend." Hopefully she got it.

"Clarke?" she guessed.

"Yeah," he made a face. "How-"

"That's how I've seen you around," she said smartly, studying him.

"Oh," Bellamy said beneath her gaze. Clicking his tongue, he looked at the floor, hunting for an escape. Lifting his head back up, he smiled at her. "Yeah, well."

"Understood," she held up her French-manicured hands. "But you're really cute though, so I can't promise to keep my eyes off you tonight."

"Okay," locking his fingers on the plates, he started walking away. "Nice meeting you." Weaving his way through abandoned shoes and tables, he returned to Clarke. "Look what I found."

Avoiding her eyes, he sat down and dug into the shrimp.

"Roma looks pretty tonight, don't you think?" Clarke questioned, wiping her fingers with a linen napkin.

"Who?" Bellamy tossed a shrimp tail aside and looked at her.

"The girl you were talking to," Clarke said evenly, smiling a bit at the end. Unable to determine if she was setting up some kind of trap, Bellamy remained calm. Biting into another strawberry, she gazed at him for some sort of recognition. When that didn't come, she pointed in the direction of the ice sculpture. "Over there."

"What?" Bellamy said incredulously. "Over there?" He gestured to the grinning cat.

"Tall girl? Nice legs, orange dress?" Clarke described.

"Oh," Bellamy nodded as it fake dawned on him. "Her? She was… asking directions?" It came out more question-like than he intended.

"Directions?" Clarke echoed. "To?"

"The bathroom," Bellamy lobbed back. "She really needed to go."

"As much as I'm enjoying watching you weave this web, you can stop lying," Clarke sunk her teeth into another strawberry. "You think she's pretty, don't you?"

"No," Bellamy said immediately.

" _I_ think she's pretty," Clarke admitted easily, wiping her hands off again. Opening her tiny, blue bag, she removed a mirror and checked her mouth and teeth. "Roma's one of the hottest girls in school. And, personally, if you didn't think she was hot, you wouldn't have gone to such trouble lying about how she needed 'directions to the bathroom'." Propping her head in her hands with a certain finality, Clarke waited for him to speak. Bellamy dove back into his shrimp, tearing off the tails of at least five, while thinking of a comeback.

"Okay, fine," he relented, dropping the shrimp in his hand. "She's hot, alright? But I'll have it known that she came over and started hitting on me."

"She hit on you?"

"I-no," Bellamy recanted, making a face. Clarke's glare forced him to recant his recant. "She just asked me to dance. Obviously I told her no."

"Her and half her friends want to hook up with you," Clarke sighed.

"I'm not responsible for my sex appeal," Bellamy replied, biting into another shrimp. "If I could control it, Clarke… I still probably wouldn't do anything about it." Clarke smiled at him.

"Stop eating all those shrimp!" she chided after watching him go through ten more. "You're gonna have fish-breath."

"You're still gonna kiss me," he answered confidently, downing two more.

"You're gonna have to pee really badly later," she tried another angle. "They're mostly water, genius."

"Ah," widening his eyes, he continued eating. "I'll be like you then."

"Funny," Clarke answered. Pointing his last shrimp at her, he ate it, and then dried his hands. He leaned back in his chair.

"Let's dance."

"I just ate, Clarke," he gestured to the heap of semi-transparent shrimp tails on his plate.

"So did I," she pointed at the leafy strawberry tops.

"That's not the same thing," he argued. "All you had was fruit."

She eased to the edge of her seat and rose to a standing position. "I'll dance by myself, then."

"No, you're not," drying his hands once more, he stood up with her and followed her into the mass of students already sweating and gyrating. Bellamy felt the heat before even entering the mob; a cloud hung around on all sides, giving entrants a little taste of what was available on the inside.

Turning around to face him, Clarke laced her fingers through his and started dancing. Bellamy moved back and forth in a fashion close to dancing. At the formals, he, like most guys, didn't do much dancing; girls were the ones with the hip action. He wasn't going to ask Clarke to do that though. Another fast, club song pumped through the speakers and Clarke's face lit up.

Going into auto-pilot, Bellamy's eyes swept the crowd, taking in the diverse dress colors, hair styles, and even tuxedos. He spotted several girls in white dresses and some in red, reminding him of the Red Queen. Some girls had several colors in their dress, sort of like rainbows. Moving onto the guys, he analyzed the white tuxes, the black and white ones, and the ones with colored vests to match their date's dress. _I've got some competition here_ , he thought. There were some other guys with blue vests, but Bellamy determined he was the winner in that category. Scanning, his eyes stopped, and he frowned.

"Ow!"

"What?" Bellamy snapped back to reality.

"Why are you squeezing my hands so hard?" freeing them, she flexed them and stared in his direction.

"No reason. Sorry," he apologized half-heartedly. Clarke gave him a weird look and then drifted back into the beat. He'd seen Finn dancing with some girl. And he couldn't help but wonder if he would do the same thing to her that he'd done to Clarke. Did Finn have it in him? Lost in thought, Bellamy kept dancing. Once a rapist always a rapist? Was that a thing?

"What are you thinking about?" Clarke yelled into his ear over the music.

"I'm not thinking," he lied, forcing a smile. She eyed him suspiciously and then allowed him to hold her hands again. Clearing his mind, he smiled broader in hopes of convincing her. When she turned in a circle, Bellamy looked for him again. Zoning in on him, Bellamy watched Finn dance happily with the dark haired girl. From his face and the sounds coming from that direction, he was with friends. Tearing his eyes from that direction, and hoping that his face had given nothing away, he mentally returned to the party atmosphere.

Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, he collapsed into his chair, laughing with Clarke. The last hour and a half had been spent in what had basically become a tropical rainforest. Bellamy was nice and soaked, and he reasoned that Clarke was in the same boat because strands of hair were stuck to her damp forehead and neck. He'd taken his jacket off earlier and everything.

"I can't… I can't go back in there," shaking his head, he drank from his cup. "I might die."

"Same here," Clarke fanned herself and stole his cup. Gulping down the rest of the water, she tossed it into a nearby trashcan. Her face was flushed red from so much sweating and movement. Bellamy could only imagine what his face looked like.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah," she grabbed her bag while Bellamy put his jacket back on.

Cold night air bit into their skin as the hotel doors closed behind them. Clarke shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Without asking her, Bellamy removed his jacket again and draped it around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she slipped her arms into the long sleeves that ended up covering her hands. Bellamy wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, clearing the first layer of sweat.

"You know what we should do?" he marveled at his own idea.

"What?" she climbed into the passenger seat with considerable effort.

"Let's go to the beach," closing the door behind her, he marched around to the driver's side. They were already so close to it anyway. Shutting his door, he turned the key in the ignition and carefully backed out of the jam-packed parking lot dotted with white and black limousines. "It'll be like our pregnancy story!"

"Okay," Clarke laughed at his excitement and rested her head against the window. Sighing, she reached a hand up and gingerly touched her hair. "How does my hair look?"

"Nice," he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel at the red light. "As always." When the light turned green, he sped down the road, amped.

After parking in the lot of another upscale hotel, he and Clarke walked toward the growing sound of waves; the moon spotlighted their stroll, hanging high in the night sky surrounded by glittering stars. Clarke hugged his jacket tighter around her shoulders and Bellamy crammed his hands into his pockets. Because of the water, it was colder here than at the first hotel. At a railing, Bellamy stopped, resting his forearms against the cool, painted metal. "Do you wanna actually go on the beach?"

"I don't want to get sand in my shoes," she declined.

"Here it is, then," he bowed. Sinking down to the cement, they dangled their legs over the side. They were feet above the sand, giving them a perfect view of the ocean. A blinking red light slowly crossing the water indicated a boat or ship passing. Clarke straightened her dress around her and placed her hands on the chipping railing. "Tonight was fun."

"Yeah," Clarke agreed, tucking unruly strands of hair behind her ear. Bellamy closed his eyes to hear the waves better. "Roma kept looking at you."

"Did she?" Bellamy asked absently. He hadn't noticed.

"Hardcore," Clarke snorted. "It was actually kind of funny."

"She told me at the ice sculpture that she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes off me," Bellamy confessed.

"She said that?" Clarke said before tipping her head back and laughing. "Oh my God… that's a bit sleazy."

"It's not nice to call names," Bellamy answered sarcastically, looking over at her. Making a face, Clarke stared right back while swinging her legs back and forth.

"I'm serious," she pushed. "Roma has dated at least one guy from all the sports teams we have."

"That's not so bad," Bellamy shrugged.

"And she was ready and willing to 'dance' with you," she air-quoted. "Regardless of the fact that you were already there with your pregnant date. Roma has no low, and I can bet that she wanted to do more than just 'dance' with you. Way more."

"Like I said, Clarke," Bellamy yawned and rested his head against his hands. "I can't control my sex appeal. What do you want me to do?" Clarke's lips turned into a smile as her gaze trailed over the sand. Bellamy liked how peaceful she looked; her calm made him calm. It was there between them like a blanket, in spite of the cold. A pair of cars raced down the road behind them, momentarily disrupting their quiet vista. "I'm glad you're pregnant."

Clarke kept staring at the incoming waves. _Is she ignoring me?_ Inhaling deeply, she leisurely turned to face him. Slightly disheartened, Bellamy wondered if that was a thought better kept to himself. "Why?"

"Not how it happened, of course. Because… I've had fun with you and I've learned a lot since being with you," he explained, reaching a hand up to tease over his short, bristly hair.

"You didn't need me for that," she countered, returning her blue eyes to the beach scene.

"You wouldn't be my girlfriend if you weren't," Bellamy pressed. "Because you never would've come to live with me. I probably would've failed out of school by now and I'd still be hooking up with Gina, and maybe some other girls." Clarke half-smiled, but tried to hide it. "And we're having a kid together, so… that's always exciting."

"I am not glad I'm pregnant," she said solemnly, running her fingers over some sand grains. "Changed my whole senior year, not to mention my life."

"You could be alone."

"You're right," she acknowledged that fact. "I could be alone."

"I mean, I'm not much besides a beautiful face, an impressive intellect, and mind-blowing abs, but… you know," he squeezed her shoulder. "Could be worse."

"Are we ever going to tame that ego of yours?" laughing, she wiped beneath her eyes and planted her hands in her lap. "You are shamefully conceited, Bellamy."

"Uh, I should be," he defended himself against her assault. "Think about when we go to drop him off at kindergarten in five years. I'll be twenty-four; half the dad's there are probably going to be on the up-side of thirty, maybe forty. I'm going to walk into whatever elementary school, holding my son's hand, turning heads. All their wives are going to want me and all those dudes are going to want to be me. It's inevitable, Clarke."

"You are ridiculous!" resting her head on his shoulder, she kept laughing. "God… I hope Tristan does not turn out like you." Wrapping his arm securely around her shoulder, Bellamy laughed along with her. He liked her laugh. Half of his comedy stemmed from his self-obsessed comments. And even though he knew full well that they made him sound like a self-absorbed asshole, he didn't care. They made Clarke laugh, so he kept it up.

"Thanks for being my date."

"Not a problem," Bellamy answered. "Even though there was no alcohol, I still had a nice time."

Clarke pressed closer to him as they fell into a serene silence. "What would you do if this happened to Tristan?" she asked quietly.

"If he got a girl pregnant?" Bellamy wrinkled his forehead. "I'd kick his ass, like any responsible father would, and make sure he does the right thing." Hopefully Tristan wouldn't turn out like that.

"No," Clarke adjusted her head on his shoulder and paused, tapping her freshly painted nails against the cement. Bellamy shivered involuntarily; it had gotten a little cooler. "This. If… what happened to me happened to him."

"If… like… if he was…" Bellamy faltered, not wanting to say it out loud. Just thinking about it made him slightly uncomfortable. He knew he couldn't say that it wouldn't happen; Tristan's gender didn't grant him immunity. His smile cracked and turned into a frown. At a loss, he just sat in silence. Why had they gone from jokes about his physique to this?

"You don't have to answer that," Clarke sat up, shaking her head. "I don't even know… why I said it. It's probably never gonna happen." Biting her lip, she turned to better judge his reaction. "And I can tell you don't want to talk about it. That was stupid."

"I would…" Bellamy thought hard in an effort to not disappoint her. He couldn't tell why she'd brought it up, but he knew she wanted an answer.

"Bellamy," she placed her hand over his.

"No, it's not stupid," he shook his head. Her question was kind of weird and kind of random, but important at the same time. What would he do? "I just… hold on. I would… I would pay for him to see a counselor, if that's what he wanted, and I would listen to him and believe him. And I would hold him while he cried - he'd probably cry, right? You cried a lot, so…yeah. And I'd… I'd just tell him that everything would be okay because… we know how much it hurts." Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't think of anything else right now."

He turned to her and waited; the green in her eyes was more watery than normal. _Oh shit, what did I do?_ Clarke threw her arms around his neck, almost choking him. Rubbing her back, Bellamy felt her heart pound lightly against his chest. From her reaction, he deemed his answer acceptable. Letting him go, she wiped beneath her eyes again, and smiled. "Let's go back to the house. It's cold and my butt's falling asleep."

Bellamy smiled widely and helped her up. Dusting his pants off, he looped an arm around her shoulders and escorted her down the deserted sidewalk. Clarke rest her other hand on her stomach and hummed some song from earlier. He anticipated that other Prom couples would soon be arriving. The beach was a popular location for post-Prom activities. "So, uh… just throwing this out there, the guys all think we're gonna have some crazy sex," he said casually, running his fingers up and down her jacket-covered shoulder.

"They are aware that I'm almost nine months pregnant, right?" she questioned.

"That's what I said," Bellamy said innocently. "And then I called them out for being so crude and childish."

"Did you?" Clarke raised an eyebrow. "Because that doesn't sound like the Bellamy I know."

"Well, I did," suppressing a laugh, he kissed the side of her head. "But that brings me to another thing I would like to respectfully request. And I'm totally cool if you say no."

"And that is?"

"Can I -"

"No," she cut him off.

"I didn't finish," he pointed out.

"It's still no," she repeated.

"Okay," he agreed. Bellamy masked his small disappointment. He'd anticipated that answer before even asking. That's why he'd come with a sure-fire back-up. "What if we had a repeat of our dinner with Jasper and Maya?"

"You… want to go to dinner with them?" she asked, confused. "Right now?"

"No," he shook his head. "I'm talking about the after-part."

"Oh!" Clarke walked around to her side of the truck. Her dress blew in the wind. Leaning against the side, she smiled widely and closed her eyes as loose strands of hair swirled around. Bellamy swung his keys around, waiting. Locking eyes with him, Clarke maintained her smile. "Only because you were such a great Prom date."

"Yes!" Bellamy pumped his fist excitedly. "To the frat house!"

* * *

Thanks so much for the comments and feedback and whatnot. You guys are all rockstars in my book, however cheesy that does sound. I'm always obsessively checking for comments because they always make me happy.

ALSO, for anyone who lives in the south, Bob Morley's (and Jarod/Miller and Lindsey/Raven!) going to be at Dragon Con this year! I live in Alabama and just found this out last night so I'm painstakingly trying to talk my friend into going by using her love of Spike (BtVS) against her (as she doesn't watch The 100, despite my best efforts of "post apocalyptic! hot men! did I mention hot men!?"). Because hotel rooms are freakin' expensive in Atlanta and because going alone would suck.

Anyway! Enjoy. (and also tell me if you're going to Dragon Con because how cool would that be?)


	13. Chapter 12

On the ride home, they held hands, fingers entwined, like a couple of shy junior high schoolers. Bellamy found he was even a little bit nervous, despite the fact he'd gone a lot further with a lot of girls, but none of them were Clarke. Back at the ACE house, he held the door open for her, and took his time leading her up the stairs to their room, knowing Clarke would stop to cradle her stomach and catch her breath.

Once there, he guided her to the bed, gently pushing her to sit. He reached down and tugged at the straps of her ballet flats, unwinding them and letting them fall to the ground one after the other. Bellamy took one of her feet into his hands and began rubbing the ball of it with his thumbs. His movements where slow and languid and Clarke made a small groan of pleasure letting her head fall back against his bed.

"I'm not sleeping with you." _Tonight_ , she added silently. She knew he wouldn't try anything, but she it wasn't _him_ she was worried about, necessarily.

"I know." He smiled, mischievous. "You think about sex with me a lot. Can't blame you. I am remarkably good looking."

Clarke's only response was a snort. He changed to the other foot. Abruptly his fingers touched some little sensitive spot and she let out a sharp gasp, definitely not in pain. She pushed herself up on her elbows to see his eyes go dark and his face turn solemn. But he didn't stop. His hands moved upward, over her ankles and up her bare leg to her calf and began working at the muscles there; all of his movements slow and sensuous, their gazes fused together, unable to look away. Abruptly he yanked his hands away from her legs, and leaned away from her.

"Alright. Let me help you get out of that dress."

Clarke allowed him to reach the damned side zipper. As he sat her up, she listened to the zipper being pulled down, and he began to shimmy her out of her dress, letting it pool at her waist. Calloused fingers brushed her spine making Clarke's spine quiver in response and her heart began thumping so loudly in her chest that she wondered if Bellamy could hear it.

She blushed when she realized that she was half naked in front of him and her boobs were practically in his face. He barely looked at her, though, as he pushed her pajama shirt down over her head and pulled her arms through the holes, as if she was a small child who still needed help getting dressed. She stood up to shimmy into her pajama pants and pulled the rest of the dress off, removed her bra, and carefully folding it into her prom dress and tucking it into her hamper. When she turned around, Bellamy had already changed, and awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, looking at her with a soft gaze. _He really does have amazing abs_ , she thought to herself, as she crossed the space between them.

Feeling brave and bold, she leaned into him, slipping her hand around her neck and pressing her lips into his; soft and familiar.

"Clarke," his voice was rough. "I –"

"Just shut up and kiss me," she groaned. All of his infinitesimal self control was starting to drive her crazy. She liked that he was always careful with not to push, without trying to treat her as some fragile broken thing. Always giving her control to every situation.

Mutely, he brought his hands beneath her jaw and pulled her forward and kissed her with more pressure; more desire. Bellamy was the first to pull away – as always. His eyes sparkled in a million different emotions that churned and combined into something both dazed and charged.

She stared at him for a few seconds before she launched herself in for another kiss. Not an inch of space was between them. Still, his arms snaked behind her lower back, pulling her tighter against him without trying to press her stomach too much. Clarke moaned against his mouth and her fingers yanked at his dark curls, pulling him closer.

"Ugh," she withdrew a minute later, exasperated with her desire to get closer still, but her belly was uncomfortably in the way. "This isn't working."

Instead of his usual sarcastic retorts, he wordlessly sat on the bed, pushing himself backwards until he met the headboard. "Come here," he rasped, patting the space next to him.

She raised an eyebrow, confused, but complied by perching on the edge of the bed. He groaned in exasperation, his hand winding around her knee and gently pulling her toward him until she was practically sitting sideways in his lap.

Winding one fist gently into her hair, Bellamy slowly leaned down and gently brushed his lips over hers, giving her ample time to change her mind, to pull away if she wanted.

Clarke's hands slid up his shoulders around his taut neck, yanking his hair to bring him closer. His tongue slipped out, running along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. Clarke gasped and yawned at the same time.

He made a noise in the back of his throat – a laugh or a groan, she wasn't sure, but he pulled back and smiled at her. "Time for you to go to bed."

Clarke groaned. "I don't want too."

"To be continued," he promised, and gently pushed her down into the bed, pulling the covers over them, despite her protests. She turned on her side, facing away from him, as he scooted closer, one arm pillowed under her head, and the other gently rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. Wrapped in the safe haven of his arms, Clarke slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber.

She fell asleep for a couple of hours and woke up with Tristan treating her like a soccer ball, repeatedly kicking her. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she raised her head slowly and realized that Bellamy had fallen asleep with her. Clarke felt how their bodies nestled perfectly together with her back to him. She almost wanted to snuggle into him from the heat his body was giving off. An arm loosely cradled around her stomach still.

Her hand slid under the covers as she sought his and gingerly brushed his fingers. They twitched in reaction to her touch. Slowly, she picked up his arm and allowed her body to shift into the direction facing him. Clarke propped herself up on her elbow so that she looked down at him face-to-face as she tilted her head to one side allowing her hair to pool on her right side.

The sky was now peaking in color as it streamed through the bedroom. Ravenous purples and pinks drizzled across the spacious room like colored carpets rolling out for the main event of the sunrise. Bellamy looked like he was at peace while he was sleeping. Oranges, yellows and ambers bled through, igniting his dark curls like some sort of dark halo. She brought her fingers to his face and gently stroked his firm jaw line then glided up to his cheek, her thumb tracing over prickly dark stubble. Her hand slid into his hair, caressing the silky curls that tumbled down the side of his head. When he slept, his barriers melted away. All the tension he carried in his body, the sarcastic quips, and all his stoic reservation. Inhaling a deep breath, he groaned slightly as he slowly began to wake up. His eyes fluttered open and surprise etched across his features when he noticed Clarke in his perpetual vision.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for everything." She didn't think she had ever told him how much being there for her and Tristan meant to her, for taking on her burdens and not once complaining. She'd come to the stark realization that he'd be a good dad to Tristan.

Slowly, she leaned into him, her lips lightly brushing his. Then, like a magnet she pressed her lips against his parted mouth. Bellamy delicately pulled her into him accepting the kiss. With his hand, he pushed her hair up to the side and pulled away from the kiss, searching her eyes. He stared at her, and she only stared back. His calloused, rough hand made its way to her chin - his thumb grazing her soft, pink lips. Bellamy pulled her chin closer to him as he leaned in once more pressing his lips into hers once more. She yielded to him with the slip of his tongue. Clarke curled her fingers around his shirt, bringing him closer to her. Both arms wound around his neck, tracing patterns against his skin.

She kind of never wanted to leave this spot, this morning, right here with him.

She'd never admit it anytime soon, but she was half in love with Bellamy Blake.

* * *

He found her one Friday night in his bed, stuffing her face with cake. He didn't know what to focus on first, the bit of chocolate on her upper lip she was trying to lick off, or the fact that she was wearing _his_ shirt. It was most definitely his, blue and emblazoned with his frat's title on the chest, and the small hole on the sleeve where he'd gotten it caught on the back of a girl's earring once. His arms dropped limply to his side, mystified by what he was seeing.

"I'm hungry," she said by way of explanation, as if she thought that's why he was staring at her with an odd sort of look on his face.

"Is… is that my shirt?"

Glancing down, she flushed. "Yeah," she said sheepishly. "Sorry. My pajama top was cutting off my circulation at this point… do you want me to change?"

"No," he said quickly, his voice a little gruffer than intended. "It looks better on you… actually, really fucking hot."

She rolled her eyes and snorted half-heartedly, but he noticed her cheeks redden. "Yeah, because being very, very pregnant is attractive."

He shrugged as he climbed on the bed, settling next to her. He bumped her thigh with his knee. "It is on you."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to butter me up. I know what I look like," she looked down at the cake in her lap.

He groaned. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, brushing dark curls off his face. "Clarke, look at me." A moment passed before she raised her eyes to meet his. "You're smart, funny… beautiful. And that was before you were pregnant. If… if you weren't seventeen and my little sister's best friend, I probably would've already made a move, a long time ago. You're pregnant, yeah, but you're pregnant with _our_ son. And that just makes you even more beautiful and sexy. Really. In my head, no one even compares to you."

Clarke's heart somersaulted in her chest at the sincerity in his voice. Was that really how she looked in his eyes? Smiling sweetly at him, she took another dainty bite.

"Where did you get cake?" he asked, watching with dark, unreadable eyes as she took another bite.

"Maya made a cake for Jasper and he offered me a piece."

"You know, if Jenny Craig saw what you're eating right now, she'd have heart palpitations."

"Want some?" she mumbled around a bite, offering him the plate. She stuck the fork into the moist, delicious cake, but before she could get it to her mouth, Bellamy had reached across, grabbed her hand, and directed it to _his_ mouth. He watched her as he chewed slowly, and she wrinkled her nose.

She hoarded the remainder of the cake, but he couldn't bring himself to care because she had still not reached that spot of chocolate above her lip, and now that the shirt debate was over, his one-track mind had settled on that.

Bellamy reached out almost hesitantly, and then held back the hand that was midair to wipe it off the corner of her lip. Instead, he dipped his head down to kiss it off, the touch of his tongue against her lip sent a bolt of electricity through her veins.

* * *

On the first day of May, Clarke noticed Bellamy watching her like a hawk as she finished getting ready for school. Unlike her, he was nearly done. In fact, he would be out of school by the middle of the following week. Like everyone else on campus, he was studying for his remaining finals. The seniors, his seniors, would be graduating in the middle of May, too. Most people she saw, excluding those freaking out over particularly hellish exams, were excited for the end of another school year.

"What are you doing?" she finally asked, whirling around. His unending stare was weird.

"Waiting for you to go into labor," he said innocently, leaning back in his desk chair.

"You know that's not how it works, right?" she fired back, tying her hair up.

"You're due date's this month," he replied calmly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "The middle, Bellamy! The sixteenth, to be exact; not today."

"You ever heard of babies coming early?" smirking, he tossed his keys up and down before getting up from his seat to check her shoes.

"Sit down," rolling her eyes, she stooped down for her backpack. "Flip-flops."

"I still have to make sure they're matching flip-flops," he wrapped her in a reverse hug as she tried to exit. Grunting, Clarke swiped at his hands; he released her.

"You mad at me?" he asked.

"No," she shook her head. "I would just like you to stop staring at me like that. It's weird."

"I stare at you all the time," he countered.

"Okay, that's even weirder," Clarke answered, planting her hands on her hips. The day before, Bellamy had given Miller a whistle in case she happened to go into labor and he wasn't around. "Tristan's not coming today or tomorrow or the day after that. If he's anything like you, he's gonna procrastinate and put off being born until it suits him."

"Hey," Bellamy flipped the light switch, cracked his door and strolled after her down the hall. "I'm not a procrastinator." Whistling, he traipsed down the stairs and out into the morning sun. "And if I know Tristan, which I think I do, he's coming early. Like me, _Clarke_ , he enjoys surprising people and making boring days exciting."

"Oh yeah?" she raised an eyebrow. "How much are you willing to bet he comes early?"

"Bet?" he repeated.

"Bet?" she mocked him. Opening the back door, she placed her backpack on the floor and shut it. Turning around to stare him down, she folded her arms. "Yeah, bet, Bellamy. You seem mighty confident, and quite frankly, it's gotten a little more than annoying. So, put up or shut up."

"I'm pretty sure there's something immoral about betting on our son's birth," Bellamy replied, leaning against his truck.

"You're probably the least moral person I know, so it's perfect," Clarke smiled happily, waiting on his response. "Are you really going to back down from a bet, Bellamy? From a girl?"

"I'm not betting on-"

"No balls," Clarke cut him off, smirking confidently.

"What?" not sure he heard her correctly, he made a face. Clarke radiated even more confidence now that she had his full attention. Insults were always perfect to get people to do things. _This should be fun_ , she thought to herself; _he's so losing_.

"You heard me," she said louder. "No balls!"

"Clarke," standing up straight, he motioned for her to lower her voice. It was early, and a good majority of campus was still sleeping, minus certain athletes. And late partiers.

"Where are your balls, Bellamy?" she asked, scanning the ground. "I can't seem to find them." Tucking hair behind her ear, she searched harder.

"Twenty bucks," he said after grinding his teeth. Looking up, Clarke smiled evenly. "Twenty bucks he comes early."

"You're on," she extended her hand.

"This is an easy twenty," he shook it. "And I almost feel kinda bad for taking money from a pregnant girl. Almost."

"I'm only pregnant for another fifteen days," Clarke retorted, walking backwards. "Maybe more. Who knows?" Shrugging, she opened her door and got in.

"So," she seemed hesitant now, after he had slid into the driver's seat and keyed the ignition.

"So?" he prompted.

"About the name thing."

He promptly raised an eyebrow.

Silence reigned supreme as she twisted in her seat, trying to get the seatbelt snuggly around her stomach. "Giving him your last name," she clarified.

"Oh?"

She rolled her eyes, a bit annoyed that his speech was limited to one syllable, two letter words. "Did you still want Tristan to have your last name?"

His eyebrows rose into his hairline. "Seriously?"

"Stop with the one liners. Yes, seriously."

She expected him to pump his fist into the air like the end of The Breakfast Club. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the seat until he invaded her space. "Thank you," he breathed softly, pulling her closer still, resting his lips on Clarke's forehead, feathering kisses over her now-closed eyelids. "Can I kiss you?"

"You don't have to ask permission every time you want to kiss me first, Bell."

He frowned, "Yeah, I do. But I'm asking for me as much as I'm asking for you, I need that assurance… I mean, I know you still have panic attacks, and I want you to know that I won't…" he winced, continuing, "… push anything on to you, or try something you're not completely comfortable with."

Her heart swelled with affection for him. "I know you wouldn't," she said determinedly. She trusted him, more than she trusted anyone in her life. Aside from the first day all those months ago, the day she moved in and he hugged her, before he knew anything, that he'd always been careful making sure he didn't touch her, or that she was comfortable with it before he did. Always relinquished control to her.

He beamed. "So…?" he questioned.

She hesitated, before nodding her assent mutely, not trusting her voice to hold steady, the recent realization about her feelings for Bellamy Blake still whirling about in her head.

And he did it. He pressed his lips to hers, the briefest of caresses, and reclaimed his place in the driver's seat.

He was still smiling when he dropped her off at school.

* * *

 **OKAY, sorry for being a little late in updating. And sorry for the short chapter, BUT the end chapter ended up being 23 pages and works better split up, especially because I got more changes to do to the latter half.**

 **AND a thank you to yourmomshouse on ao3 for betaing this and the next chapter and giving me pointers on what to add and what to subtract and generally for being awesome and reading my train wreck of a last chapter. You really do rock.  
**

 **And, as always, thank you all for all the comments and follows and alerts and for sticking with this for the past month and a half (or however long you've been here).**


	14. Chapter 13

Tapping his pencil against the tiny desk that barely covered his lap, Bellamy stared at the bubble sheet, and then the test booklet. Rubbing his forehead, he sighed with exasperation and stared harder. Macroeconomics was his last final; the last one and he could finally pack up his stuff and head home with Clarke in a day or two. He would've felt great if the test wasn't kicking his ass. The first half had been fine, just multiple choice. Now there were graphs and free responses; he hated both of those with a passion. And his grade already wasn't that great in the class. Passing the final was essential because it guaranteed that he wouldn't have to spend another semester in economic hell.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the page and stared at another graph. "Fuck!" he hissed. Curling his fingers into a fist, he pounded his thigh discretely. Lifting his head up, he rubbed his eyes and visually roamed over his lecture hall. There were more than one hundred kids packed inside, more than the average class attendance. Unlike regular class, people made sure to show up for exams.

Some people were busy scribbling answers and professionally interpreting graphs. Other kids looked more like him, and Bellamy found comfort in that. That meant he wasn't alone. They were the ones mentally cursing their lives, and possibly the professor. _Focus, focus_ , he told himself. There was still an hour and a half left from the original three. He had time to pull stuff out of his ass and hope for the best.

Flexing his fingers, he grabbed his pencil and studied the graph. Shaking his head, he bubbled in two more answers. His pocket buzzed. Anxiously tapping his pencil, he glanced up, wondering if anyone had noticed. Everyone was absorbed in their thoughts and the test. Digging into his pocket, he furtively extracted his phone and checked the screen. A new text message. Glancing around the room once more, he clicked to read it. He didn't want anyone noticing and trying to accuse him of cheating.

"I'm in labor," he read to himself. It took a moment for the sentence to process in his head. When it did, his eyes widened and he crammed his phone back into his pocket. _Holy shit_ , he thought. Picking his pencil back up, he swallowed and tried to breathe normally again.

Clarke was in labor. Clarke was having the baby. That meant he needed to get onto the road and into that hospital. Panic set in. She'd been fine that morning when he dropped her off at school. This wasn't supposed to be happening right now. Clarke had obviously been in school, and he was in the middle of a huge test. Thoughts racing through his head, he half-stood up, and then flopped back down. The kid next to him shot him a weird look.

Seizing his test booklet, he flipped through it. Locking his jaw, he couldn't help but be mildly infuriated. There were two more graphs and five free response questions. There was no time. Bellamy had no time. _Maybe he'll let me reschedule_ , Bellamy thought. He wasn't too fond of the guy, but there was a slim chance. What kind of person wouldn't excuse a student because his girlfriend went into labor? Thankfully the aisles weren't cramped like they were in some other lecture halls. Getting up, he jogged down the steps towards his professor's desk. Pushing his glasses up, he looked up from his newspaper. "Yes?"

"I-this is really important," Bellamy smiled politely. He even lowered his voice to avoid disturbing other students. "My girlfriend just went into labor and I was wondering if I could reschedule or… finish this on another day." His gray-haired professor looked over him.

"The test must be taken today. No exceptions," he said bluntly, returning to his paper. In disbelief, Bellamy glared at him. Biting his lip, he took a few seconds to calm down and regroup. Apparently, _this_ was the person who wouldn't excuse a student because his girlfriend went into labor.

"I understand that," Bellamy leaned down, causing his professor to loosen his grip on the newspaper. Setting it down, he stared back blankly. "But my girlfriend is having our kid and I would kind of like to be there. So could I please-"

"The final is either taken today or you fail," his professor said indifferently. "No exceptions." Giving him one last scathing look, he resumed reading.

Aware that he'd hit a heartless, brick wall, Bellamy stood up, silently seething. Those were his options. Take the test and show up late, possibly inciting the fury of an in-labor-Clarke, or leave and fail. He returned to his seat and flopped down, pissed. Those were horrible options.

Breathing heavily, he seized his pencil and rapped it furiously against the side of his desk. Leaning back, he peered over the bent heads and the test booklets. On the verge of breaking his pencil, he tossed it into his backpack, and rested his forehead on his desk _. This is bullshit_ , he thought. _Absolute bullshit. There's no way I'm gonna finish this anyway. I fucking hate graphs._ Sitting back up, he leaned back a bit, head pressing into his palms. Screw this.

Abandoning his test, he grabbed his backpack and ran from the room, attracting all sorts of attention. The double doors slammed loudly behind him, echoing all the way down to his professor.

* * *

"I made it!" he burst into the room with Clarke's bug out bag – his title – that he had her pack a week ago, complete with pajamas (basically just one of his t-shirts she'd taken to wearing and her pajama shorts) and all the necessary things the internet suggested she'd need when she went into the hospital. He'd had it sitting in his truck for days.

"I made it, Clarke. I almost got into two wrecks, but its okay. I'm here." Throwing his jacket into an empty chair, he stalked over to her bedside. "Mom." She stepped back to give him more room. Donning a hospital gown, Clarke sat up a little in the bed. She grimaced at having to be connected to several machines; Bellamy knew how much she hated needles. "Hey." He ran his fingers through her hair.

"This hurts so bad," she whimpered. "So bad."

"Where were you?"

"Statistics," she frowned deeply. Moving around, she found a spot that suited her. "Then I had to go to the nurse. And then called your mom. And now I'm here."

"It's going to be okay," he reassured her.

"Do you know how much pain I'm in?" she fired back, glaring at him. "It's not gonna be okay! I hate this." Bellamy shrank back at her sudden change in demeanor.

"You haven't seen anything yet, honey," Aurora Blake commented.

"Mom," Bellamy made a face at her. That was the last thing Clarke needed to hear. "Ignore her, you're doing great."

"It's the truth," she shrugged and walked over to one of the chairs near the window. Lifting the blinds, she let in more light.

"Well… how long ago did your water break?" Bellamy breathed deeply.

"Like almost two hours ago," Clarke answered, rubbing her forehead. "And you took your sweet time getting here."

"Clarke!" he accidentally made a face at her. Bellamy fixed it as her eyes thinned into another piercing glare. "First of all, I was in the middle of my final, which I failed, I'm sure, because I was only halfway done when you texted me. Second, you know I'm an hour away."

"You failed your macroeconomics final?" her face softened. "That means you'll have to take it again."

"Yeah, I know," he answered, rubbing her hand. "I'll take it with another professor though because the one I have now is a complete dick."

"I'm sorry," she apologized before squeezing her eyes shut and tightening her grip on his hand. "I'm sorry, Bellamy."

"It was mostly graphs anyway," he muttered and casually snuck his fingers from beneath her vice-grip once she let go.

"Am I being scary right now?" cheeks flushed red, she opened her eyes and stared helplessly at him. "I don't want to be scary… I don't want to be like those crazy women giving birth in movies."

"You're in labor," he said calmly, rubbing the back of his head. "It's excusable."

"If I get too crazy, just tell me to calm down."

"Uh, okay," he nodded. That sounded like the last thing any guy should ever say to a girl in labor. "So what do we do now?"

"We wait," his mom answered, checking her watch. "Doctor's said she's not even fully dilated yet. Won't be for a while."

Bellamy didn't fully understand what 'dilated' meant. He'd heard the word once on some doctor drama while flipping through the TV channels and a Google search a month ago when he was preparing for this inevitable day suggested it had to do with the baby and his impending arrival. Pacing a bit, he sat down next to his mom.

Three more hours passed and Clarke got sweatier and more restless. In response, Bellamy got more anxious and afraid. Doctors and nurses kept coming in and checking her. And every time, she still wasn't ready. Almost there, but not completely. "Do you want ice?" he asked apprehensively.

"No," she shook her head.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked next. He'd read – also on Google - that walking induced labor. Thinking to himself, he wondered if that applied to their situation. She was already in labor, so would a walk do anything?

"No!" she hissed, and her face contorted in pain. Backing up, Bellamy noted that her eyes weren't as friendly as they normally were.

"Okay, okay," he said calmly. He didn't have any ideas; he was just as clueless as her. He knew she was still in the first stage of labor, but he wasn't sure if she was in the active phase or transition phase. And his lack of ideas didn't really matter since she rejected every single one. Bellamy doubted she would accept that though. Google was unhelpful when applying it in real world application. Alarmed, he looked at his mom, who directed him to focus back on Clarke. "Um… what about-"

"I just want him out!" she cried. Rolling her head to the side, tears slid down her cheeks. "I just want this over. Bellamy..."

"Clarke, it's okay, baby," whispering, he stroked her hair. "It's okay. Everything will be okay, I promise. You're doing fine," he repeated, like a mantra.

The door opened. And in came Octavia, who looked at Bellamy with alarm. "Just know, I did not bring him. Or tell him anything." He didn't have time to work up a response because Finn pushed his way into the room, nudging Octavia out of the way.

Bellamy felt his temperature skyrocket within seconds. Standing up, he glared daggers in his direction. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard-"

"Get. Out," Bellamy said menacingly. He had no business being in the same room as them. Finn had zero right to be in any room where Clarke was giving birth. Bellamy had also made it clear, on two separate occasions that he never wanted Finn near her again. He didn't get a free pass just because she was in labor. Finn didn't move.

"Finn," Aurora looked at him strangely. "What are you doing here?"

"Get the fuck out!" Bellamy shouted, incensed. Everything else in the room disappeared but Finn. Vaguely, he heard Clarke crying harder as Octavia sank into the seat on the other side of her bed, clutching her.

"Bell." Clarke grabbed his hand. The touch of her fingers didn't quiet him.

"Get out!" Bellamy yelled. Aurora looked between the pair, lost. Bellamy didn't care and he didn't plan on explaining. That wasn't his place, and it wasn't his responsibility. All he knew was that he wanted the asshole before him to get out of the room. Bellamy had worked his ass off to be there; Finn hadn't done shit.

"Bellamy," Finn said plainly.

"Either tell everyone what you've done, or so help me, you'd better get the fuck out of here right now," Bellamy tightened his grip on Clarke's hand. His eyes started watering. "This is _my_ kid, and _my_ girlfriend, and _my_ family. Leave."

Clarke's heart warmed for Bellamy despite her sobs that seemed to rack through her, uncontrollably. He'd make similar declarations before, but not like this.

Setting his jaw, Finn took a sad look around the room, and then left. Chest rising and falling, Bellamy remembered where he was. As the door shut, he caught a brief glimpse of the staff members staring curiously in their direction. Turning back to Clarke, he leaned down. Her free hand was covering her face as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," whispering an apology; he pressed his forehead against the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry." He kept repeating that. Reaching his opposite hand up, he swiped at a defiant tear. Clarke clutched on to him for dear life.

"Bellamy," his mom said softly. At the sound of her voice, Bellamy closed his eyes. She'd never know the truth. No one besides him and Octavia would. As evidenced, Finn didn't plan on coming clean. It wasn't his story to tell, so Bellamy's lips were sealed, and Clarke had been adamant from the beginning about no one else finding out. This was it.

"Can you just go please?" sniffling on accident, he swore silently. Keeping his back to her, he listened for her footsteps and the closing of the door.

Octavia looked between the two of them and launched herself at Clarke, holding on to her shoulders the best she could, as tears sprang to her face. "I'm so sorry," she choked out, her hold on Clarke so tight she could barely breathe. "He was outside the room when I got here; I tried to stop him from coming in…"

"O, oxygen would be appreciated-"

She pulled away, sniffing and wiping her nose gingerly. "Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed.

"No problem," Clarke replied uneasily.

Then Octavia had circled the bed and all of a sudden, Bellamy was the one enveloped in a bone crushing hug. Octavia was always very sensitive – she cried every time those guilt trip Sarah McLaughlin commercials for abused animals came on. "I'm gonna… go with mom. Give you two a minute…" Shooting a watery smile at the pair, Octavia turned on her heel and left, the door clicking closed behind her.

This was supposed to be a great moment, one of the most memorable of his life. The room screamed with silence. "I'm sorry, Clarke."

"It's okay," she wiped her eyes. "What you said, about us – me and Tristan, being your family…"

"I meant it, Clarke." He linked their fingers, bringing her knuckles up to his mouth. "You're stuck with me. All of us," he gestured, even though they were alone in the room. She knew he meant that Octavia and Aurora were her family now, too. And Tristan's. "We'll make a Blake out of you just yet."

She cried again, but this time it was because she was happy.

Another hour and a half passed, bringing them to five-thirty in the evening. Manning Clarke's bedside, Bellamy felt his stomach grumble. He'd promised not to leave her alone, a decision he now regretted. He hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed the cup with melting ice chips and popped a few in his mouth. Crunching, he ran his hand down the green scrubs he'd been forced to wear.

"Can I push yet?" Clarke asked aggressively. The sun was setting, and Bellamy felt like his entire day had passed by within the walls of the hospital room. He'd seen the same doctors and nurses walking past the door, flipping through charts and notes. Maybe other people were having babies, too. Bellamy wondered if any of the other dads felt the same way, that despite the internet searching and flipping through baby books whenever he was in a store, he still felt wildly unprepared for his son's arrival. He was more of a visual learner. If he and Clarke ever had any more kids, _then_ he'd finally feel sort of prepared.

"Yep," the smiling nurse lifted her head. "You're fully dilated. I'll get the doctor and then all engines are a-go. You're having a baby." Bellamy didn't like how happy she was; maybe because he was so tired, and bored. Had he known how long labor took, he would've brought some entertainment. And food.

"Oh my God," Clarke sat up. Her blond hair was mussed from lying on it for so long.

"What?" he looked up, alarmed.

"Did you hear what she said?" she stared at him. A male doctor returned with the nurse a few minutes later. Shutting the door, he pulled on gloves.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"He's coming," Clarke's eyes widened. "He's… coming."

"Well we've been here for six hours," Bellamy muttered.

"What?" Clarke snapped.

"Nothing," he said quickly. Pasting on his best smile, he offered his hand.

"Alright, Clarke," the doctor lifted up the sheet that had been shielding her bottom half for as long as Bellamy could remember. "We're in the home stretch now. When you feel a contraction, you can push."

"Bellamy," she squeezed his hand tighter as another wave of pain wracked her body. He lost feeling in his fingers. "Are you… gonna go down there and see?"

"What? Where?"

"Down where… he is," she pointed at the doctor.

"Uh, I hadn't planned on it," Bellamy deflected, flexing his fingers as much as he could. Being down there for fun was one thing. Being down there to watch a baby come out was another.

"You can," the doctor said calmly, smiling over at him. "Plenty of fathers watch their children being born."

"Uh… okay." Slipping his hand from hers, he sidled past the nurse, who began encouraging Clarke. Occupying his hands, he ran them over the scrubs again. At the end of the bed, he stopped and craned his neck to see around the sheet.

"Come around here, son," the doctor said invitingly. Hesitantly, Bellamy rounded the edge, looked, and immediately found himself battling his gag reflex. Turning away from the scene, he hurried back up to Clarke's face, motioning for the nurse to move aside. Closing his eyes, he struggled to erase what he'd just seen.

"Are you… are you sure you want me down there, 'cause I think I'd be way more beneficial up here," he felt himself hyperventilating. "Like way more beneficial."

"What's the matter?" she questioned, bearing the brunt of another contraction. "What are you talking about?!"

"I don't like it down there!" Bellamy answered hysterically. "I'm scared!" He didn't mention that he also found it insanely gross.

" _You're_ scared?!" she fired back, making a face at him. Bellamy grabbed her hand in response, hoping she would drop the subject in the midst of her pain. "You're not doing anything!"

"Clarke, calm down."

She stopped her deep-breathing and gave him a devilish look he'd never seen before. Searching for what he'd done wrong, he glanced down at the doctor, who raised his eyebrows before returning to his safety behind the sheet. The nurse occupied herself with a nearby clipboard. "What? You told me-"

"Calm down?!" she asked wildly, knuckles turning white. "Bellamy, you idiot! Do you not see what I'm doing right now?!"

"You're right," he acknowledged. Clarke's tone terrified him. "That was stupid. I shouldn't have said that."

"Push, Clarke!" the doctor ordered from his end.

"I can't!" wheezing, Clarke collapsed against the bed, crying a little. "I'm so tired… I can't do this."

"Clarke, yes you can," Bellamy took her weakness as the perfect opportunity to redeem himself. "Yes you can. A few more pushes, babe. Just keep telling yourself that."

"No." Clarke sniffled and stared up at the lights. Shaking her head, she ran her hands over her face. "Noo…"

Bellamy glanced down at the doctor, who spoke in a low voice to the nurse. He felt helpless; she had to push. There was no getting out of it. Sure, Bellamy didn't know how much pain she was in, but the only way to make it stop was to keep pushing. Then she'd be pain-free and holding a baby. Biting his lip, he thought of other motivational techniques. Then it came to him, a brilliant idea. Stalking over to the chair, he grabbed his phone, scrolled through some of his music library, and stopped on Coldplay. Clarke moaned in the background. Choosing one of the songs, he turned it up to the maximum volume.

"Push, Clarke," taking hold of her hand, he set the phone down on the nightstand.

"Can you turn that down?" the doctor asked.

"No, she likes it!" Bellamy argued, tucking hair behind Clarke's ear. That wasn't a lie. Clarke loved Coldplay, and what better time for their inclusion than the birth of their son? "Come on, Clarke. You can do this! Chris Martin wants you to push!" Grunting, she did. And again when another contraction hit. She clung on to him enough to break skin, leaving little crescent shaped welts on his palm.

"Good, good. A few more, Clarke," the doctor said supportively. "You're doing great."

"Come on, Clarke," Bellamy tightened his grip to counter hers. "Come on."

"Bellamy," her face flushed red beneath the strain. "You will never know this level of pain!" She pushed again. "I hope you get kidney stones!"

"I can see his head!" the doctor shouted. "One more, Clarke! Again!"

"One more, Clarke. Just one more." Bellamy ignored her threat. _Please don't let me get kidney stones_ , he prayed.

Crushing his fingers, Clarke shrieked while tears slid down her face.

The surprisingly clear sound of their son crying for the first time shook Clarke from the absolute state of fear at being a parent she'd been in since those two pink lines stared back at her on a home pregnancy test.

Now that Tristan Blake had come into the world, wrinkly and screaming at the top of his little lungs, Bellamy finally understood what his mother had meant when she claimed there's no greater love than that of a parent and their child.

"Do you want to cut the cord?" the Doctor asked Bellamy, who still stood there, dumbfounded and holding Clarke's hand. He nodded, numbly, unable to take his eyes off the sight of the baby, _their_ baby, as the doctor walked him through the process.

Dazed, he saddled back into the chair next to the bed as the nurse laid their newborn son against Clarke's breast. Bellamy couldn't take his eyes off them; he comprehended fully now what his mother had meant about children being miracles, something he'd once rolled his eyes over, but he couldn't distinguish or give name to any of the emotions swirling in his chest.

Clarke looked over at him, beaming through happy teams streaming down her face as she played with tiny fingers, murmuring little assurances to the bundle in her arms. Even though she was tired and her skin was paler than usual, Clarke's face was glowing, and Bellamy thought she had never looked stronger or more beautiful.

"You wanna hold him?"

"Yeah," his voice was thick. "I do."

* * *

Hands in his pockets, Bellamy stood before the glass, smiling at all the babies. From what he could tell, there were more pink blankets than blue ones. Scanning the rows, he found Tristan's rolling home and stared at him as he slept. He was huge, almost eight pounds; Bellamy recalled hearing him scream loudly as the doctor held him up after Clarke's final push.

Tristan had eyes greener than Clarke's and a mop of curly brown hair that could pass for his. Bellamy already knew he'd be a good looking kid.

"There he is!"

Bellamy turned to his left and smiled wide. As soon as Tristan burst into the world, he'd texted Miller.

"New father!" Miller greeted him with a hug. Half the frat was with him.

"We got you a balloon, bitch," Jasper handed it to him before giving a congratulatory handshake. Bellamy smiled at the shiny, blue balloon bearing the classic: _It's a boy!_ "Where he at, man?"

Bellamy pointed him out in the second row. Tristan yawned.

Miller looked thoroughly at Tristan and then at Bellamy. Then back at Tristan. "Yep. He's yours," he confirmed, stepping back from the glass so the other guys could get a better look.

"How can you tell?"

"He's lazy," Miller replied.

"Shut up," Bellamy elbowed him. Perking up immediately, he turned to his brothers. "Guess what his middle name is."

Everyone shrugged after a few moments of thought.

"Ark-Chi," Bellamy revealed. Awed, their faces lit up one by one.

"Are you serious?" Murphy slapped Bellamy's chest. "How the hell did you get Clarke to agree to that?"

"She didn't!" Bellamy exclaimed. Neither of them had discussed middle names. They'd concerned themselves with a first name and then moved on to other baby-related things. "She was so doped up on pain meds that she didn't even notice!"

"Clarke's going to kick your ass," Miller replied, fake-punching Bellamy in the chest. He still looked impressed.

"Probably," Bellamy said knowingly. "But that's a sweet ass middle name. He's a legacy and he has our house name as his middle name."

It was genius. Clarke had to appreciate genius.

"A-C-E!" they started chanting loudly. "A-C-E! A-C-E! A-C-E!"

"Boys!" one of the nurses shot them a look.

"Sorry," Bellamy hurriedly apologized as he motioned for them to quiet down. The air of excitement was difficult to contain. Bellamy felt energized, like he did after working out for a long time. He wanted to go crazy, flip things over, party, something. Turning back to his friends, he reveled in the congratulations and the hugs.

* * *

"Bellamy!" Clarke sat up as he entered the room, pushing the plastic thing containing Tristan. She'd waited diligently for his return. If she'd had enough energy to walk, she would've hunted him down. He couldn't have gone far, and knowing him, he was somewhere around the babies. She fondly recalled her first appointment that Bellamy attended, where he had wanted to go see all the newborns.

"Shh, he's sleeping," he motioned.

"Ark-Chi?!" she questioned in a loud whisper, glaring in his direction. "You named your son after a frat house?!"

"It was our first house!" Bellamy defended himself. _What the hell is wrong with him_ , Clarke asked herself. Shaking her head, she relaxed against the pillows and wordlessly combated some lingering pain. "We have a lot of memories there, Clarke!"

"I'm going to kill you," slightly irritated, she tapped her nails against the bed railings. Coming up with a middle name had completely slipped her mind in the last month because other things seemed more important. Clarke rolled her eyes. "Ark-Chi… Really, Bell."

"He's gonna be the most kick ass kid in preschool," Bellamy resorted to his usual logic. "Think about it. No one messes with a kid named Ark-Chi."

"That's not his name," Clarke pointed out a little harshly. Parents were supposed to agree on a baby's name. She'd agreed to 'Tristan', because it fit her versatility request almost perfectly. She hadn't approved the inclusion of Bellamy's frat house in his name. Beyond fatigued, she was not in the mood to have an argument.

"Yeah, but… it's part of his name," Bellamy shrugged, lifting Tristan out. "And all the girls, or boys, will fall at his feet. He's going to have no problem getting a date to Prom." Beaming, he immersed himself in his own world, dancing while holding Tristan.

"Bellamy-"

"Here's the happy couple," Miller poked his head in the door. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Yeah," Clarke nodded, giving up. It wasn't the worst middle name – her dad's middle name was Muriel - but it definitely wasn't something she would've chosen. And she knew there'd be no changing Bellamy's mind. Since there were other people in the room, she didn't want to fight in front of them. That was rude. "I'm assuming you heard?"

"Oh yeah," Miller said proudly, filing in. Eight more people filed in after him, nearly filling the room to capacity. Jasper waltzed over to the window, adjusting the blinds. "Ark-Chi? We approve."

"Of course you do." Clarke muttered. She could only imagine the nurse's face when Bellamy said that. A frat house? Really? _There's no way they think we're going to be responsible parents_ , Clarke thought. They were obviously young parents and with Bellamy's executive decision… she could do nothing but shake her head.

At least he didn't say something ridiculously stupid, like the name of a superhero, or some long-dead Roman emperor. He _had_ named Octavia, after all. Covering her face with her hands, she raked fingers through her hair and hoped her appearance wasn't too unsightly. Their visit was unexpected. Aurora and Octavia had come in shortly after Tristan was born; the two of them had been Clarke's only anticipated visitors.

"Awh, I want one." Octavia cooed as she cradled Tristan, rocking him back and forth in her arms as she pressed a finger to his nose.

Bellamy only glared at her. "Don't even," he said at the same time that Aurora replied, "Not til you're thirty."

Finn, thankfully, didn't dare show his face after the scene Bellamy had made. She was afraid hospital security would've ended up throwing _both_ Finn and Bellamy out, because she knew if he stayed any longer, Bellamy probably would've assaulted him. The last thing Clarke wanted to do was take her newborn son to the police station with Aurora and Octavia to bail him out of jail.

"You look great, Clarke," Monty commented. She smiled back in response. Her smile remained as she watched Bellamy dance around with Tristan; it was cute.

Getting down on one knee, Bellamy held Tristan up in the air in the direction of his gathered brothers/friends, carefully making sure he was supporting Tristan's head properly, just the way his mom showed him. "Tristan Ark-Chi Blake, I present you to the eventual fathers of your future frat brothers!" he proclaimed. They whooped and cheered. Rising regally from the floor, Bellamy handed Tristan to Miller, who had three little sisters and held Tristan like an expert. The boy's all clambered over to Miller, each wanting their own turn holding Tristan. After ensuring Tristan's safety, Bellamy walked backwards to Clarke's side.

"We can change his middle name if you want," he said in a low voice. "I can see how much you hate it." He laughed.

"No," Clarke sighed and observed their son being passed from one guy to the next. "You love it too much, and knowing you, you think its genius."

"That I do," he concurred.

"And you've already told them," she gestured to the horde of people in her room. "And they're excited, so I'll suck it up and get used to it."

"Yes!" Bellamy grinned excitedly. When he leaned down to hug her, Clarke inhaled a relaxing combination of sweat and cologne. "If I told you that I kind of might love you a little, would that freak you out?" Clarke Griffin was pretty much it for him, but that _would_ freak her out, so he wasn't planning on telling her that anytime soon.

"Yes," she nodded as he pulled away.

"Okay," he said, unperturbed. "Then I won't tell you." Smiling, he wrapped his fingers around the railing and watched Tristan move from arm to arm. From their position, it sounded like his friends were arguing about something. "Support the head!" Miller commanded before relinquishing the baby to Jasper, who was wiggling his fingers like a maniacal villain. If Miller and the rest of the guys weren't there, Bellamy was convinced that Jasper would probably try and sneak Tristan out with him like some mustached Mafioso in a telenovela like his mom watched.

"He has hair like Bellamy's," someone pointed out.

"Do you think he'll be as stupid?" Miller stared over Jasper's shoulder.

"Nah." Several of them shook their heads. "He knocked up Clarke. This kid's going to be smart." Clarke smiled at the compliment.

"You think he'll be as slutty?"

"Maybe. Look at those eyes."

"I have something else to tell you, too. And it's kind of embarrassing," Bellamy lowered his eyes and scuffed his heel against the ground.

"What?" she raised a suspicious eyebrow. That first thing had been heavy enough. Normally, she wouldn't be able to tell if he was serious. But the look in his eyes told her he was. And that was scary.

"You owe me twenty bucks." He said it so casually that Clarke almost laughed. Strolling into the center of the testosterone-laden pack, he accepted Tristan back into his arms.

* * *

Bellamy shifted in his chair. Hectic wasn't the right word to describe the past month or so. After bringing Tristan home - the frat house, that is - Bellamy and Clarke had to pack up pretty much everything and move back to their real house an hour away. College was over; Bellamy's sophomore year was done. At the start of the year, his room housed one person. Now, there were three people vying for space. It was tight, it was cramped, but they were doing their best to make it work.

He quickly realized that Clarke had been right, scarily right. Tristan's first night home, he went straight to sleep, fooling Bellamy into thinking that being a dad wasn't so hard. Tristan woke up two hours later, screaming.

Wanting to make a good impression on Clarke to show her he was serious, and he wasn't going to leave her or Tristan, ever, Bellamy got up, lifted Tristan from his crib, and took him from the room so she could keep sleeping. He was tired, very much so, but he didn't mind the one on one time. There was something peaceful about calming down his son and putting him back to sleep. After quieting him, he laid him back down, only to be startled awake two hours later.

Then again two hours later.

It took almost a week and half for Bellamy to get used to his new sleep schedule, and not a night went by where he didn't silently swear while holding Tristan and watching late-night infomercials. He and Clarke decided to alternate turns during the night because it seemed fair, and it kept both of them equally sleep-deprived. The only problem was high school. Bellamy's year was over and done with; Clarke still had a little over a month left before graduating, which meant she still had classes, tests, and homework.

With that little dent in their newfound parenthood, Bellamy basically became a stay-at-home-dad. As promised, his mom taught them how to properly hold and change a baby, how to warm up bottles, how to change diapers, everything. After the first two weeks, she stepped aside as teacher, but kept a watchful eye in case Bellamy screwed something up.

While Clarke learned and his mom worked, Bellamy dressed Tristan in the morning, fed him at whatever intervals he demanded, changed him when necessary, and put him down for naps in the afternoon. At night, while his friends partied and hit on girls, Bellamy bathed Tristan and played with him while Clarke did her homework. This was his new life. It was hard, but he didn't find himself wishing he was out partying every night, drunk off his ass. He had a newfound sort of purpose. He had a son, and Clarke. It was hard, but it was more than worth it. Sometimes he even opted not to go to sleep, knowing Tristan would wake up, and instead watched his tiny son sleep, lulled by the baby's soft breathing. He resolved to be a better father to Tristan than Bellamy's father ever was.

His mom had come home from work early one afternoon before Clarke got out of school. He'd taken to picking up both Clarke and Octavia after school with Tristan in tow. The same girls from their class that had one time shamed and shunned Clarke during her pregnancy, would now surround his truck and coo at a sleeping Tristan in his car seat. He learned early that girls were suckers for guys with babies. Clarke would just roll her eyes and kiss him on the cheek and he'd grin like the cat that got the canary, because whether or not she realized it, she was marking Bellamy as hers.

"Oh, good, you're home," she said as she stripped off her cardigan and tossed it haphazardly on a ring of the coat rack, along with her purse. Where else would he be? "Where's Tristan?"

"I just put him down," he yawned. He'd contemplated a nap after feeding and changing Tristan and finally getting him to sleep, but something in his mom's expression told him that wasn't going to happen.

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the hospital with Finn," she started, wringing her hands together.

Bellamy closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in expiration, knowing this was not going to be a pleasant conversation. "Mom," he warned. Aurora was more accepting of Clarke now, but that didn't mean she kept her opinions to herself, and she was treading into dangerous territory by mentioning that jackass.

"Octavia wouldn't tell me, but…" she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. "Something you said at the hospital, it hit me… Is Finn Tristan's father?"

Bellamy glared at her from the couch, getting more angry and frustrated by the minute. "No, _I'm_ his father. _I'm_ the one who's been there for Clarke, _I'm_ the one that has taken her to her appointments, _I_ made sure she's had her prenatal vitamins, ate right, and Tristan is _my_ son."

"Of course he is," Aurora said determinedly, brow wrinkling as she sat in an armchair, toying with the ends of her hair like Octavia did when she was nervous or agitated. "What I'm asking is, is he Finn's biologically."

Bellamy scrubbed his hand over his face, tired and irritated with this conversation, and the fact he couldn't seem to escape fucking Finn Collins. He could only imagine what his mother thought of Clarke now, if she put two and two together and realized that her daughter's ex boyfriend was the biological father of their son. It wasn't his story to tell, and he didn't want Aurora to pity Clarke, either. Clarke was a fighter. She had already intended to raise Tristan herself, cut off from her family, alone, long before the two of them got involved.

"Well… you're asking, so you already know the answer," he grumbled. What did biology matter anyway? Bellamy's biological father stepped out and abandoned them. Clearly, it wasn't everything. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, looking over at his mom. "It's not my story to tell, okay? None of this is Clarke's fault. I'm Tristan's dad because I want to be, and he needs one, and… just don't start."

Reaching over, Aurora placed a hand on his knee, holding his gaze. His mom completely surprised him by answering, "I won't." It wasn't like Aurora Blake to concede defeat and he eyed his mom from across the median. "Clarke's a good girl and she's a good mom," she said by way of apology.

Seemingly content, she got up to make her way to the kitchen, stopping once in the threshold. Aurora turned to look at him with a small smile and said, "I'm proud of both of you. Now, go get some sleep before you pick the girls up from school. I will take care of my grandson when he wakes."

Mutely, he nodded.

After a couple of hours of much needed sleep, Bellamy begrudgingly rolled out of bed, leaving Tristan to be spoiled by his grandmother while he went to get Clarke and Octavia. He was quiet on the drive home, despite Octavia's persistence in engaging in conversation. Clarke could tell something was bothering him, but wanted to wait until they were alone in the privacy of their bedroom to ask.

He told her about the conversation he'd had that afternoon with his mom. He was waiting for her to be upset and angry, but instead she just nodded vehemently, understanding, with her lips in a tight line and a crease in her forehead.

Later that evening, after putting Tristan to bed for the night – or for the next several hours, he walked into the living room and stopped in the hallway, his ears perked at the sound of Clarke and Aurora. He peaked around the corner. Sitting on the couch was Clarke, in nearly the same spot he was in earlier that day, and his mom murmuring quietly from beside her. Aurora's eyes glistened in the low light, but Clarke was openly trying to stifle sobs, pressing her hand over her mouth and palming her cheeks.

He almost burst in there, ready to yank her into the cocoon of his harms and chastise his mother for making his girlfriend cry. Instead, Clarke stopped talking, and Aurora slid closer to her, engulfing Clarke in her arms. If anything, Clarke cried harder when his mom started rubbing soothing circles on her back, petting her hair the same way she would his or Octavia when they woke up crying in the middle of the night after their dad left. "Shhh," she whispered, rocking the blond in the safety of her arms.

Bellamy felt as if he were intruding and quietly stepped back into the hallway, sticking his head in Octavia's room where she lay sleeping haphazardly on top of the covers with her phone stuck to her cheek. No doubt she had fallen asleep texting Lincoln. He crossed the hallway and closed the door silently behind him and waited for Clarke.

He was dozing off by the time she came back to the room, eyes red. She blinked at him, as if she hadn't expected him to be waiting on her. "Bell…"

"C'mere," he said, scooting further across the bed, he raised the covers invitingly. She slid in a moment later, pushing her back against him like a little spoon, pulling his arm over her stomach. "I told your mom," she said quietly, pressing her lips shyly into his forearm as his arm tightened around her. She burrowed into him with relief.

"I know. I'm proud of you." His voice was warm and reassuring against the top of her head that she couldn't help but wiggle around until she could see him, eyes glistening in the darkness. Clarke rubbed her cheek against the warm cotton of his t-shirt, nestling closer. His breath fanned against her hair and his hand took up a slow caress at the base of her spine.

It'd been a long time since she could really remembering feeling like a family, like part of something, free to breathe and heal. She was glad that she got this one, with Bellamy and Tristan, and Octavia and Aurora.

* * *

Rubbing his eyes, he looked around the gargantuan room. He couldn't remember his last full night's sleep. He'd never pulled an all-nighter before, but he figured that was basically the same as taking care of a baby all night. Roaming his eyes over the audience, he transported himself to this same date two years ago, June fifteenth. There were so many people. So many people.

Families screamed as their graduated paraded across the stage with a big smile on their face. Turning his eyes to the stage, he stared at the members of the school board, some of whom looked like they'd rather be somewhere else. A guy crossed the stage. _Yep_ , Bellamy thought, _same as always_.

Walk across the stage, shake the principal's hand, receive diploma, shake some guidance counselor's hand, walk off. That walk, with the cameras and the lights, was the most nerve-wracking part of graduation. Bellamy smiled at the memory of some kid tripping at his graduation.

Biting his bottom lip, he gazed over the sea of intermingled red and gold robes. Unlike most schools that dressed graduates by gender, robe color at his former high school was determined by grade point average. Honor graduates received yellow robes; everyone else got red ones.

He had already clapped fiercely when the B's rolled around and Octavia walked the stage, both hands in the air, and shouted, "We're done, bitches!" – And, much to the dismay of staff and parents, half the graduating class echoed her sentiments.

Bellamy cheered her on vehemently, thrusting his fist in the air, before settling back down to retrieve Tristan from his mother's lap as the announcer called for Roma Bragg. He vaguely remembered the dark haired girl from prom.

A last name starting with 'G' caught Bellamy's attention the second time.

"Mom," he attracted her attention. Since he had the baby, she had the camera. Standing up, he cradled Tristan and turned him around so he could see the stage. Bellamy listened anxiously for Clarke's name. "Mommy's graduating," he said in a low voice to Tristan, bouncing him up and down. Bellamy silently prayed that Tristan didn't throw up on his blue shirt. Tristan was also clad in blue because, according to Clarke, it made his eyes 'pop'. Glancing down, Bellamy couldn't help but agree; his tiny eyes did look brighter.

"Mom," he said again, looking over to his right.

"Yes, Bellamy, I'm filming," she assured him.

"Okay," he nodded, bouncing Tristan. "Are you zoomed in on the stage?"

"As much as this thing allows," she commented. "I know how to film a graduation, Bellamy. Yours is at home, nicely done, remember?"

"Mhm," he nodded.

"And you should probably stop bouncing him. He just ate," she reminded him.

Bellamy stopped immediately. He'd been thrown up on once before, and it'd been one of the grossest moments of his life, and the smell of sour milk seemed like it'd never go away. He didn't need a repeat in front of all these strangers. Tapping his foot, he continued waiting. An excited buzz pervaded the air. This wasn't even his graduation and he was excited.

After all the diplomas were distributed, the principal would ramble on for a bit, and then declare them graduates. Tassels would turn, caps would shoot up, and then rain down onto crying, elated seniors. They would then march from the room to a song Bellamy had heard a million times but couldn't name, and he would locate Clarke outside amongst the mass of families, congratulations, and flowers.

"Clarke Elizabeth Griffin," the speaker enunciated. Grinning, she marched across the stage in her yellow robe.

"Look!" Bellamy pointed excitedly. "Look, Tristan! Mommy's graduating!" He glanced down at Tristan, who didn't look as interested or ecstatic. Even though their son wasn't nearly as enthused, Bellamy couldn't prevent a stupid grin from coming to his face.

Not only was he excited, he was proud.

Part of him wanted to run down there and crush her in a hug, but they were only in the middle of the alphabet. He had to control himself for at least another half hour. Bellamy watched her return to her seat and refrained from yelling out something ridiculous. Reaching a tiny hand up, Tristan hit Bellamy in the face. Smiling wider, Bellamy looked down again, wishing Tristan understood the day's importance. "Mommy's graduating."

* * *

 **Thank you thank you, you've all been awesome all throughout this story and I love all of you. I might even be working on a new AU but I'm not sure how I feel about it so far and I prefer to be pretty much finished before I post anything.**

 **ANYWAY.**

 **THANK YOU EVERYONE. You are all effin awesome. I never expected people to like this.**

 **AND a thank you to yourmomshouse from ao3 for betaing this (and the last chapter) and giving me pointers on what to add and what to subtract and generally for being awesome and reading my train wreck of a last chapter from it's first draft (it really was painful)**

 **xx love you all**


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